


As It Was

by SJtrinity



Series: As It Was [1]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, I just want them to be happy, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Canon, Sappy, Title from a Hozier Song, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21604033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SJtrinity/pseuds/SJtrinity
Summary: Honest to God, Merriell didn't think anything in particular about Eugene Sledge the first time he met him.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge, Sidney "Sid" Phillips & Eugene Sledge
Series: As It Was [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620760
Comments: 44
Kudos: 52





	1. Whatever here that's left of me is yours

**Author's Note:**

> No beta. Go easy on me, it has been a crazy long time since I wrote anything and it shows.

_The lights in this place are too fucking bright, he can't get away from it no matter which direction he twists his head. "Like they're trying to kill me quicker," he says. "Hush up," he gets in reply. The drugs get to work on him eventually and he starts to drift, only to be awoken later by a nurse coming in and fussing over him. "How're you feeling?" He just grunts and stares at her while she does what she has to do and gets out. How the hell does she think he's feeling, he's fucking dying. At least she kept quiet and didn't try to make any useless small talk. After all, he's actually sleeping. He turns his head and looks at him, face slack and soft as he dozes, chin fallen down against his sternum, shoulders slumped. Merriell hates seeing him drooped down like that, it makes him anxious, makes him think about other times, but then these days just about anything makes him think about the war._

Honest to God, Merriell didn't think anything in particular about Eugene Sledge the first time he met him.   
He'd noted his eyes, dark and equal parts soft and sharp, and how clean white his exposed skin still was, but that was the sum of it. He was just a replacement for some other body after all. There was no point in playing friendly with any of them, they wouldn't last long enough to make it worth the time. Only good for smokestacking.  
So he lounged and smoked and painted a long, winding picture of their miserable future for them while they scrubbed oil drums in the heat, watching their carefully neutral faces fall apart in telling ways. The light haired one, Leyden, bit back at him, sharp movements and snapped words. Merriell liked that. Sledge barely opened his mouth.  
And soon enough he was standing in an amtrac next to the same boring boot. Sledge was fiddling nervously with his helmet, his long face drawn and pale beneath. Merriell offered him a smoke, a distraction for himself more than anything else.   
"I don't smoke."  
"Yeah?" _Quel idiot_. Didn't he know he was going to be dead on a beach within the hour? Merriell glanced around the amtrac, one quick sweep of their faces, each and every one shaking in their goddamn boots. Some were just better at keeping it below the surface. Alarms blared and the doors started to open, bright light pouring in. Merriell's stomach heaved and he turned his face to the side and vomited. And yeah, maybe he could have turned the other way and not vomited on Sledge's boot but where was the interest in that? Anyways it calmed him a bit, and he lit his smoke and stared at the back of Burgie's always steady head.  
From that point on it was just rising fear, crawling his way across sand and in and out of trenches, running and crouching in partially destroyed coconut groves, pushing and retreating. Just the sound of men bellowing orders, screaming for a corpsman, screaming. The constant barrage of bullets, the whistling and shrieking of heavy artillery and cannon fire, the ceaseless tremors and sudden violent shaking of the ground beneath him. Merriell felt the feralness growing in him, how easy it would be to just let it all go, but he kept it distant from the rest of him. He was long familiar with shoving that aside, shoving all that aside, no space for that person here.  
Hours later, the beach secure but precious little else, he was sitting on his ass waiting on orders. Sledge, Oswalt and Leyden were still alive, fucking somehow. _De les imbéciles_ have all the luck, and really it could only be pure dumb luck, especially when you see something as blindingly stupid as Sledge taking his boots off, his expression vaguely displeased.   
"You going Asiatic?"  
"My feet are soaking wet."  
Merriell was almost surprised by the burst of anger that had him moving forward and shoving Sledge's boot into his chest. He pushed his face in close. "What you gonna do in your stocking feet when the fucking Japs bust through the line?" There were deeper colors in Sledge's eyes, shades he wasn't expecting to see. He stared back at him and Merriell suddenly felt exposed, like he was seeing too much, taking in something he hadn't meant to show. He looked away first, sitting down and lighting a cigarette with a dismissive shake of his head. He could feel Sledge watching him. He kept his face turned away.  
As the sky grayed and the heat loosened its grip, Ack-Ack confirmed what they already knew. No more pushes today, the line wasn't moving. Merriell had just started in on the canned ration he'd swapped with Sledge when he remembered the Jap. He tossed the can aside and loped back to where the body lay, easily overlooked in the rock and blasted out scrub. He used his knife to move the slack jaw and stiff tongue around and felt a spike of satisfaction at the dull glint he uncovered. Soft footsteps behind him; either Oswalt or Sledge had followed after. "We're rich, boys," he said, not bothering to look up as he sliced into the muscle to loosen the Nip's mouth up. He settled the knife against the base of the tooth and twisted. "Jap's got a shitload of gold in his teeth. Gold is what? Thirty bucks an ounce?" It didn't take much, really it didn't take anything at all, to pull the tooth free. Merriell lifted it up to admire.   
He could feel the weight of their eyes, didn't have to look at them to know their appalled expressions. He couldn't care less. "Take the first watch. Wake me up in four hours." He settled his knife into an outcropping of rock and stretched out on his back, pleasing himself by turning the tooth back and forth, watching that yellow catch, deepen, fade. "Anything moves, kill it."  
Fuck 'em. They thought they were still standing on the other side of that line. They still thought it balanced out, that they could kill and destroy and collect a fucking paycheck and say it was all for something, their country, or their family, or the right reasons. _Au diable ça_. Grand loyalties and high ideals wouldn't ever buy you any relief or pleasure, and damned if he wasn't going to grab it for himself where he could. Nobody was going to fucking give to him, that was for damn sure.  
So it obviously rankled a bit when Robert fucking Oswalt shared his water with him the next morning. If Merriell wasn't so desperately thirsty, hadn't been trying to convince himself for the past hour that water wasn't even worth the trouble of thinking about, maybe he would have tried to think it through. Maybe he would have mapped out the channels of his thoughts from the night before, and compared them to the feeling that had settled over him, over the six of them, as they passed the canteen from one to another. Probably not though. He wasn't one for overthinking. Instead, he hated them all bitterly, just for a moment, even Burgie and De L'eau, because he was so pathetically thirsty that he couldn't decline. He couldn't act like he didn't need it, didn't recognize the weight of the moment or the gesture.  
It was boys like them, like Oswalt and Burgie, that made it difficult for Merriell to shrug things off. He didn't want to care about them, and he sure as shit didn't want them to care about him. He knew there wasn't anything else for him but the war. Hadn't been much for him before, and really it had almost been a relief, once he got his first real taste of war and knew, finally knew, what the rest of his life would look like. The doubt of before, the not-knowing, had been oppressive. He knew he wasn't going home. Where the hell was home, anyway? It didn't matter how good of a soldier you were, or how clever the plan, how solid your captain. Everyone's luck ran out sooner or later.  
Apparently his was running out today. Merriell had that thought distinctly as he was lifted off his feet, twisted and thrown onto his back. For a moment there was only silence and black, then he was staring up at washed out blue streaked through with sooty gray. There was a roar in his head, drowning out all other sounds, all other thoughts. Some small part of his mind was telling him to get the hell up, and he tried, but his useless body was somehow disconnected from his efforts, what he wanted from it. _You stupid shit_ , he thought viciously. _You fucking deserve it_ , and then Sledge was there. Merriell gaped dumbly at him as he knelt beside him, flinching and covering his head in response to something that Merriell still couldn't hear because he still couldn't hear anything and then Sledge was rolling him over, was standing back up, his hand digging in tight to the clothing and flesh of Merriell's arm and he was hauling Merriell to his feet like he was nothing. Merriell staggered and Sledge pulled him in against his side and dragged him along and suddenly all the overwhelming noises of battle rushed back in and his body was working again.  
Seconds later Oswalt fell, a sluice of blood erupting from his helmet.  
That night, Merriell clambered up onto a partially destroyed slab of concrete and got comfortable, or as comfortable as he was going to get. His shoulder hurt like hell from the blast that had sprawled him out, but the Doc had assured him that it would be fine. He cradled it with his opposite hand and sat and watched Eugene Sledge. Watched him. He watched as he tried to talk to Daniels, who had clearly cracked up, and then watched him speak with Ack-Ack and Hillbilly once Daniels was led away. Sledge's voice was small, and his dark eyes were soft and open. The expression in them was impossible for Merriell to understand. There was nothing guarded there, nothing obscured, like he was willing to take in whatever he saw and not hide any of himself away, no matter what he might reveal. How could such a gentle gaze hold all that?   
It sure was something.   
Merriell didn't really listen to their conversation, but something that Ack-Ack said made Sledge smile and glance away, the corners of his lips pulling down to try and halt the expression. That was something to see, too.  
The next morning, leaving the airbase and moving into the hills, Merriell found himself watching Sledge again. It was a pastime he could get used to, he decided. The boy was pretty fucking easy to look at. Right now, walking behind him, Merriell was looking at his shoulders. Sledge was leaning forward a bit, head slightly bowed, but that somehow didn't detract from the inherent straightness of his shoulders. They weren't overly broad, but there was a strength there nonetheless. Merriell should know, he had been hauled up like a rag doll by one of the damn things. He had the feeling that Sledge's shoulders would stay straight and unbent right up until the moment that they snapped. No, it was a sure thing. Sledge wasn't the type to bend. He would remain himself or he would break.  
The thought was disturbing, and Merriell pulled himself away from it by letting his gaze rove more than was probably smart or safe. Even obscured by his pack and his gear, it was clear that Sledge's body was all long, clean lines. _Parfait_. Merriell traced the taper of Sledge's back down to his hips with his eyes, then stared at his ass, trying to discern its shape through his fatigues.  
Shit, he needed to pull himself together. It was definitely not a good idea, not ever, but especially not now, and not with a sweet-faced boy who had probably never dreamed of anything other than getting his hands up some well-bred girl's skirts. Merriell quickened his pace to walk alongside Sledge. After all, Sledge had mostly irritated him every time he spoke, maybe a bit of conversation would jostle Merriell out of this stupid mood.  
Goddamn if it didn't just make it worse.  
"Ain't supposed to write shit down, you know? It gives the Japs valuable intel if they find it."  
"Guess I won't show it to them then." Lips pulled back instead of up into a small smile.  
Merriell couldn't help the answering smile that started in one corner of his mouth and kept growing. _Merde_ , he was smiling with his whole fucking face, he could feel it. _No good_ , he thought sternly to himself afterwards. _You're no good, and neither is this_.  
It didn't get any better, but Merriell liked to think he did a good job of keeping it under control. He didn't stare, too much, and he still shot shit with the rest of the company, easy as he always had. But Sledge sure didn't help anything with his steadiness and his quiet, clear gaze. He didn't help anything with his earnestness and his surprisingly dry wit. He didn't help by quickly proving himself a good soldier, someone that Merriell knew he could rely on, could sleep safely beside.  
After all, it had been Sledge's sharp ears that picked up the strands of voices coming from the bunker they had been assured was cleared. God, what a scrabble, what a shit show that almost was. Merriell found himself yelling, he didn't even know what, as he mowed them down, finally fucking killed them. Afterwards, he pulled a dirty but otherwise whole Japanese flag from one of the bodies and felt nothing but hot satisfaction. He stuffed it into his pack. He knew more than one guy who would pay well for it, and he was already thinking out how he could work them against each other for the best price, when Sledge's distressed shout pulled him back.   
"Christ! Put him out of his misery!"  
"Fuck off!"  
Merriell was already in motion, he didn't need to see or hear anything else, but he still saw it, saw Sledge turn his face away, his head bending down, those straight shoulders starting to drop. Fuck that. He pulled the soldier away and shot the weakly scrabbling Jap before anyone else could react. Sledge spun back around and stared at him, dark eyes pinning him. Merriell was careful to empty his face. "Makes it easier," he offered lamely, and turned away.  
The pathetic thing was, that wasn't even the worse excuse Merriell made in his lopsided attempts to look after the idiot. He found himself staring down at Sledge and jawing some shit about germs to him not long after. Hillbilly was dead, Ack-Ack was dead. Haney was all busted up and silent, hell, they all were. Sledge crouched over the body of a dead Nip and glared up at him. He had never looked at Merriell like that before and it made his skin itch, made him look away and fiddle his hands nervously. Sledge ripped off the Jap's insignia instead of his teeth, and Merriell stared at his back after he'd turned away.  
What else could he say, besides some crock about Asiatic diseases? _You're beautiful, hold onto that, please don't lose that_. Merriell hadn't felt so stupid useless in a long time. But the line of Sledge's shoulders remained straight.  
Being on Pavuvu made things easier. Merriell watched Sledge swim in the sea, pale limbs stroking through the water with ease and purpose. Watched him stand and palm his wet hair back flat along his skull, water running down his face, that slashing nose, those long lips. Merriell had to dunk himself to cool the desire that spiked sharp through him. But overall, things were easier. Merriell sold the flag but held onto the teeth. He bought himself hooch and cigarettes and lost the rest gambling. He hung around Sledge, but no more than he did Leyden or Burgie or De L'eau. He was already a brother in arms, but somewhere over the course of their time on Pavuvu, Eugene became something like a friend. It was nice. It was less than Merriell really wanted, but he didn't think on that, or tried not to. That was just a fantasy anyhow, a collection of images and imaginings to touch himself to.  
Even on Okinawa, under the increasing fear and strain, under the ever growing weight of fatigue, Merriell felt himself drawing closer to Sledge. They kept each other nearby, Merriell knew it wasn't just him anymore, they slept and sat shoulder to shoulder. Eugene's eyes were still open, unhidden, although the expression in them was no longer soft. That worried Merriell, sometimes made it hard for him to fall asleep at night, but he did what he could.   
Maybe his preoccupation, his goddamn fussing over Sledge, was part of the reason Merriell took such vicious pleasure in smokestacking the new boots. But they made it so fucking easy, especially Peck, whose hard gaze Merriell had wanted to shatter like glass from the first moment. Peck snapped back when Merriell ran him down, but it was brittle, with none of the heat or grit Merriell enjoyed or admired. Hamm wouldn't shut the fuck up, asking questions and sharing facts about himself that nobody asked for, like some sort of damn puppy, overly friendly and inquisitive.   
Sledge found out that his dog died, and Leyden got hit soon after. Eugene fucking lost it, and Merriell and Hamm had to hold him down to stop him from doing something stupid. They were all toeing the line between empty resignation and straight hopelessness. It got so bad, Merriell got so tired of it all, that even picking on Hamm and Peck lost its appeal. That was how he found himself propped up in the mud, bitter and empty, eyeing Eugene and idly wondering, not even caring anymore, how close he was to snapping.   
"We need some reinforcements up in here." It was like picking at a scab, or turning a corpse over to see what was underneath. He couldn't help himself.  
"Give it a rest."  
"Fuck you, Eugene."  
"Yeah, fuck you too, Shelton."  
That stung, more than Merriell expected. Eugene had only ever called him Snafu before. To hear his name for the first time, even just his last name, to hear it dropped with cold, weary anger, with a dismissive flick of dark eyes, was a surprising hurt. Merriell closed his own eyes against it, but he couldn't help, and didn't want to stop, the rising swell of words inside him. Soon they were shouting at each other, and Merriell didn't care.  
What the fuck was the point, anyways. This island, the endless mud and the rot, was dragging him down and under and why the hell did he ever think he, of all people, could save or protect something good in the first place? Had he really believed that he could send Eugene back home, soft eyed and smiling? _Quelle tas de merde_. He was a fucking fool. Even if Sledge survived this island, he wasn't going home like that, not ever, and as for Merriell, he wasn't going home at all.  
Merriell was so deep in the mire of his own mind that it took him long, precious seconds to realize how drastically the situation had changed on him. Now Peck was standing on the ridge, shouting and shooting blindly out into the void between the lines, dimly visible by the distant fires, the crackling light of shots fired and the flash of mortars. Now Hamm and Sledge were crouched behind a rock, trying to pull Peck back. Now Eugene was reaching his hand out, his arm out, trying to get a grip on Peck. He was having trouble because Peck had taken off his poncho and thrown it into the mud. But it was Merriell's poncho. It was his fault.  
He was standing, trying to run and having to yank his feet out of the mud and mind the rocks that seemed to be reaching up to trip him with every step. He was yelling Eugene's name. He got his hands on him, his arms around him, and forced him away and down. Eugene struggled against him and Merriell pushed him back. Then Peck was tossed to the ground beside them, and Merriell watched Hamm drop with a perfectly placed shot through his chest.  
Afterwards, Merriell sat with his old poncho clutched in his lap. Hate and guilt roiled somewhere in him, but mostly he didn't feel anything at all. What was he supposed to do with all this thick loathing but push it away, push it to the side? But he didn't have the energy for that anymore. He just let it roll over him. He fucking deserved it, after all. It shouldn't have happened like that, not to Hamm. Another good man, gone, and here he was, still alive.  
He could feel Eugene's eyes on him. Before he always ignored it, when he felt Eugene watching him. Maybe Eugene was looking at him for some kind of answer, in which case he didn't have it so best not to look back. Maybe Merriell was afraid of what expression he would see on Eugene's face if he looked back. So he usually busied himself with something else, or just stubbornly stared elsewhere until Sledge stopped. This time though, he turned his head and met his gaze.  
There was nothing gentle in Eugene's dark eyes, no reassurance. But there was no hate or pity there either. Somehow that was enough. His fingers unclenched, he let the poncho drop away.  
Time dragged on, dragged Merriell and Eugene along with. They still moved in tandem, slept and fought and ate pressed close to one another. But it was empty of the meaning Merriell used to find in it. Sledge slipped further away every day, and Merriell just watched him. Even standing in a torn up hut, staring down at a squalling baby and its dead mother, Merriell struggled to dredge up words, to find something, anything to say.   
"Lots of people fired mortars up here." He cursed inwardly as soon as he said it. Maybe Sledge hadn't even been thinking along those lines.   
"That doesn't matter." Fuck. That soft voice, those distancing words. Merriell stared down at the baby, swamped in loss. When Mac came and took it away, Merriell followed him out without waiting for Sledge.  
He stood outside and smoked and tried not to think but that was useless. He couldn't do this anymore. He had always expected to die out here, but he had thought he would still be himself when it happened, or would at least resemble himself. Instead he was all emptied out, not even able to summon up anger, disgust, any of those old feelings that used to heat his chest, push him on. He could barely feel fear anymore. That was the hardest to believe of all.  
The war had finally done it, he supposed. You could only watch so many innocent people get torn to bits in front of you. You could only subsist on not enough food or water or sleep for so long. You could only lose so many people, to death or injury or - _eyes unmoved, stone-set face_ \- to themselves before you weren't even you anymore. Merriell thought fleetingly about that other person, the one he had been pushing away for so long, long before he enlisted. Even he was gone. Merriell had never really allowed him to exist.   
Later, Merriell wasn't really sure how long, Eugene emerged from the hut. Merriell could tell immediately that something was different. His movements were sharper. He didn't look his way, but Merriell still made out his expression. There was some sort of loss there, Merriell didn't understand it, but somehow, somehow his eyes weren't shuttered anymore. They were open again. He was still there.   
_What happened?_ "Find anything?"  
"No." He was lying, but Merriell didn't question it. He trailed after Sledge's more purposeful stride, looking halfheartedly for Burgie. He barely noted the shot or the too-cheerful shouts that followed, but he turned and watched when he heard Eugene's voice.   
His face was pressed close to another Marine's, his hand clenched in his shirt. His voice wasn't overly loud, but he was obviously furious. The taller man spat back at him and pushed him off, stepping past him to join his friends as they gathered around the body of a dead Nip. Eugene stared after him for a moment, turned and paced a few steps away. He glanced at the group of soldiers a few more times before turning his back and sitting down, folding in on himself. He bowed his helmeted head, held it in his hand.   
Merriell felt like something was hammering against the inside of his ribs. He dropped down beside Eugene, threw his arm over his shoulder, pressed their knees together. Eugene was stiff, still curled inwards. Merriell tried to think what Ack-Ack would say, but that was fucking impossible. He cleared his throat. "C'mon Sledgehammer," he murmured, rotating his palm to gently grip the ball of Eugene's shoulder.  
Slowly, so slowly that Merriell at first thought he was imagining it, Eugene leaned into him. From shoulder to knee he leaned in, still stiff, but that was alright, so that Merriell had to plant his free foot and his rifle on his opposite side to support the weight of him. Eugene turned his face towards him and rested it against the spot where their shoulders were stacked, Merriell's on top of his own. God it hurt, his chest was fucking aching with how much it hurt. Merriell would rather be numb then have to feel all this. But he didn't move, it didn't occur to him to move. From this angle all he could make out of Eugene's face was the tip of his nose and his lips, which were tightly drawn, but not shaking, so that was alright too.  
It was really probably only a minute or so, but it felt longer, and then Sledge pulled away and Merriell let him go.   
Not long after that, it was all over.   
Merriell sat with Burgie and Eugene and watched the fireworks and the celebrating. He had been enjoying himself until Mac stumbled up, all bumbling good intentions, and ruined the mood with his "What do you do now?" Merriell watched him wander off and thought about throwing a rock at his head. He took the bottle Burgie offered him and drank long and deep.   
What the fuck was he going to do now? He wasn't supposed to be going back, he didn't have anywhere to go back to. Goddamn Mac. Sour and churning with it, he glanced down at Eugene, only to realize that Eugene was already looking up at him. His gaze was gentle again, mouth soft and considering around his pipe, and just like that first day on Peleliu, Merriell had the feeling that he was looking right into him. He was pale and solid curled up below Merriell, the flames and the fireworks picking up the red of his hair. _Perfect_ , Merriell thought, not for the first time. _Seulement toi_.   
God, he had really fucked himself, hadn't he? Not only had he survived the war, but he had gone and fallen for some rich Alabama boy. A boy he would never see again once they shipped him back. Eugene would go back to his family who loved him and wrote him faithfully, and Merriell would, what? The future was stretching out in front of him now, and Merriell felt that same oppressive weight from before settling down on him. He swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, took another sip from the bottle and held it in his mouth for a long moment, letting it burn. It helped, and he decided he would just keep at it until all these fucking thoughts stopped.  
Peking was huge, overwhelming, exotic. Merriell went along with the rest of the boys as they took in the sights, tried the food, started testing out what they could get away with. It didn't take long for them to root out the best places to drink, the closest brothels. Merriell sold one of his gold teeth to ensure he could afford a whole night cut lose. Their first night off duty, a group of them gathered, heading out together to drink and fuck. Merriell jostled among them, gleefully taunting anyone who showed their nerves.  
"You coming along Sledgehammer?" One of the boys called. Merriell turned his head to see Eugene hovering on the room's edge. He looked at Merriell, and Merriell watched, transfixed, as a slow wash of red swept over Eugene, starting in his neck and working all the way up to the tip of his ears. The answering shot of heat to Merriell's groin was heady and terrible.   
"No," Eugene muttered, looking away and down, "I'll stay here."  
The other boys jeered and teased Sledge over his innocence and his blush, but Merriell just pushed them more urgently out the door. Now he really needed a fuck.  
In the end he drank too much and barely remembered it. It was a relief, the same way that small sip of water had been when he was so desperately thirsty on Peleliu. But that fierce thirst remained. Merriell didn't go back.  
He tried pulling away from Eugene, tried to peel himself from his side. There wasn't really any reason for them to stick together now, and he figured he'd better start getting himself used to it. But Eugene made it impossible. He sought Merriell out, plopping down beside him to eat, dragging him along whenever he wanted to explore. Eugene liked to walk around the city and look at the architecture. He was so damn boring. He lit up whenever he found a building where he was allowed to poke around inside, and then Merriell had to follow along behind him as he walked from room to room.   
Occasionally Merriell would make a half-assed attempt to drive Eugene off, mocking or teasing him, but Eugene never bit. He would just snap back with some dry joke that made Merriell laugh, or worse, roll his eyes and give Merriell that small smile, lips pulled back, and Merriell would let it drop.  
In his bunk at night, Merriell lay awake and tried to make plans for the future. He hadn't tried to keep up correspondence with anyone back in Louisiana, didn't really have anyone in particular to correspond with. He eventually decided to write a couple of boys he had been friendly with in New Orleans. He hoped they remembered him, he had lived there barely a year, shuffled off to live with his aunt when things got pulled too thin at home, and that had been nearly ten years ago. There were more people up north that might remember him, but he wasn't go back there. Never.   
So he scribbled out some letters, working hard to make them sound casual, mailed them off, and waited nervously for a reply. In the meantime, the festive mood in Peking was fading away. The men were restless, the locals were unhappy. Everyone was ready to go home. The loose leash they had been enjoying was tightened, and Merriell bristled under the restriction. Everyone irritated him, and he didn't see any reason to keep it to himself. There were a few times when his big mouth got him close to real trouble, but Eugene was always there to pull him away before it came to anything.   
Eugene had been watching him closely. Too closely. Merriell felt the weight of his eyes often, and it didn't help his mood. He watched him in a different way than before, too. He used to stare right into him, piercing sharp. Now, when Merriell caught him staring, there was something reflective about it, like Sledge was looking at him but thinking intently about something else. Sometimes when their eyes met and held Eugene would flush red, would look away like he had been caught out at something. It was new, this habit of blushing. It gave Merriell a feeling, a flicker of _maybe_ that he tried to suppress. But Eugene kept watching him.  
One of the boys that Merriell wrote eventually wrote back. He knew of a couple of job opportunities in New Orleans that he could point him towards when he got in. He gave him the names of a some cheap places that were always looking for tenants. He didn't offer up a room or a couch, but he did say he would buy him a drink once he was settled. It was more than Merriell had realistically hoped for. The amount of relief he felt at having some sort of tenuous next step was embarrassing. The letter had arrived just in time. They were being shipped back.   
It was harder than he thought it would be, saying goodbye to Burgie. They'd been together since nearly the beginning, and Burgie had always tried to look after him. Merriell watched him hug a boy he assumed to be his brother, and felt all tangled up with hope for Burgie and dread for the future. He glanced at Eugene, saw that he was feeling the same.  
Later, they sat side by side and smoked and didn't talk. Merriell let himself look his fill, watched Sledge's lips around his pipe, his careful hands, watched the deepening light cast him all in auburn and cream. Eugene stared back, that same new way of his, turned inward. A strange, almost sickening feeling of anticipation started creeping up Merriell's spine, like anything could happen.  
"You should sleep," he said, just to say something. "Looking run down." Eugene just hummed under his breath and fixed his pipe more firmly in the corner of his perfect, delectable mouth. He kept his eyes on Merriell. The feeling was an itch in Merriell's neck now, a tightness in his jaw. It didn't have to go one way. He was still alive after all. He was breathing, and sitting next to a soldier with gentle eyes and straight shoulders. He searched Eugene's face, waiting for something, acknowledgement. _Dis moi. Dis-le_. But then Eugene smiled small, sad and honest, and Merriell knew it was hopeless.

_He can't tell if he fell asleep or not, doesn't know how much time has passed, doesn't remember dreaming. Next he knows Eugene's lifting his head, looking at him and smiling when their eyes meet. His shoulders rise, he sits up. He never broke, or never broke irreparably at least, and maybe Merriell can't take any credit, he's iron in his core after all, but if even once he managed to do the right thing, say the right thing, if even once he was what kept him straight and himself, well, that was something to be fucking proud of. That was a life._


	2. Tell me if somehow some of it remains

_Mer, c'mon, quit getting loud._  
_Don't try that. I'll get as loud as it takes. What do I gotta do, start ripping all these goddamn lines out myself?_  
_The doctor said that -_  
_Yeah, don't try that one either. Think I deserve to choose where I die._  
_You're not -_  
_Gene_

It took Eugene more than a year to notice that Snafu was beautiful.   
The realization was so startling, the half understood thought so bizarre as it appeared unwanted in his mind, that Eugene stood mute and frozen with it. They had just recently arrived in Peking and were exploring Tienanmen Square with a handful of other men. Eugene's hands itched for pen and paper so that he could try to record what he was seeing; the wide expanse surrounded by buildings the like of which he had never seen before, the surprising bustle of people across that large space. It would be good to record something different, maybe in a different book. The beginning of something new.   
He glanced over at Snafu, checking in. He looked bored and restless as he stood beside Burgie, eyeing the buildings and the people, but Eugene could tell he was nervous. It was the way his right hand was fiddling with nothing near the level of his waist, abortive, undecided movements. It was the opacity of his eyes. Eugene frowned, wondering what had gotten to him, and then Burgie said something and Snafu smiled. There was nothing smug there, no slick self-satisfaction. Just blooming delight that cleared his eyes, turned them blue. Eugene felt sudden pressure below his sternum, like someone had put their palm there and was pushing in. God, he was a sight. That crooked grin, that sharp jaw. Eugene had an impulsive urge to reach out, press his thumb against Snafu's top lip, test the feel of it.  
Snafu looked over at him, must have seen that something was up, because he tilted his chin down towards him and raised his eyes in that way of his. Eugene recovered enough to shrug a shoulder and smile, _it's alright, it's fine,_ and Snafu only stared at him a few seconds more before letting it go and returning his attention to Burgie. Eugene turned away, still inwardly reeling, and started making his way back to the Legation Quarter.  
What had just happened? What kind of person had thoughts like that about a, about his, about whatever the hell Snafu was to him? And had Snafu always been so, had he always looked like -  
Eugene thought back to his first day on Pavuvu, walking into the tent and meeting Burgie, Jay and Snafu. The first time he'd laid eyes on him. But the memory wasn't clear, overshadowed by his excitement to see Sid, his annoyance with how his first interaction with his company had gone. He tried to remember the rest of that day, after Sid had tackled him and after he met Ack-Ack and Hillbilly. He had eaten with Sid, Leyden and Oswalt, and yes, Snafu had shown up to take them on a work detail. Hard-eyed, intimidating and disdainful, he had managed to loom over them through sheer force of personality. He had been shirtless, and his arms and torso were all wiry muscle, all olive-skinned like he had been created with hot sunlight in mind. Oh Jesus. He had been beautiful then, too.  
Maybe he was having such trouble wrapping his head around it because for the longest time, Snafu had seemed almost grotesque to him, twisted wrong by the war or maybe just by life, a cautionary tale. Sure, Eugene had been glad to have someone beside him who was experienced, who grudgingly looked after him, but Snafu was not a good person. Terms like that had meant something to Eugene back then. Back then, he had put a lot of stock into good and evil, right and wrong. Even later, when they had become close, when Eugene had come to view Snafu's sneers and cruel jokes with something like fondness, he had never thought, he had certainly never felt, felt -   
Another memory rose unbidden, years ago, he and Sid wrestling together in his front lawn. They were laughing, running out of breath, and Eugene gave up on trying to get the upper hand, Sid had always been the scrappier one. Sid pinned him and then nearly collapsed on top of him, huffing out a satisfied breath that worked its way hot over Eugene's cheek, his ear. Eugene felt it tingle all across his skin and straight to his groin. He had pushed Sid off and all but run inside, made up some excuse.   
Looking back now, reexamining, Eugene felt something rising up in him, in the pit of his stomach. But he didn't want to look at it, he couldn't bear to look at it. If he did, there wouldn't be any going back. Instead, Eugene went to his room and thumbed through his bible, finding relief in the familiar passages.  
Refusing to look at something didn't mean he was unaware of it. Eugene was very aware of the parts of himself that he didn't much like to look at, they outweighed the rest these days. Being around Snafu all the time only made its presence sharper, more uncomfortable. Eugene supposed he could have tried avoiding Snafu, but he didn't want to do that. They had stuck together, clung together, through Peleliu and Okinawa. Snafu was a bolster, a refuge, and Eugene wasn't willing to do without him. Not yet. Besides, Snafu needed him. He never said anything, of course, he was far too stubborn to ever voluntarily show when he had a need, but Eugene could tell something was weighing on him. So he stayed close, hauled Snafu around with him whenever he got too broody, put up with his childish antics when his mood was high. And if he had to fight his own body's reactions in a way he never had before, face flushing at the slightest of stray thoughts, well, he owed Snafu that discomfort and more.  
It was like someone had opened all the windows in a quiet house, and now Eugene couldn't seem to stop noticing all the things on the other side. Snafu smelled like warm metal and ash. His drawling voice was a dark, curling thing that Eugene felt in his stomach. When talk started up about visiting a brothel, when Eugene saw that Snafu was going along, he hadn't felt jealousy, but envy. He wanted to know what Snafu's face would look like when he was touched, how his eyes would change. What would the pitch of his voice be when he was caught up in pleasure, what sort of sounds would be pulled from him? After they left, Eugene went back to the room he shared with Snafu and refused to touch himself.  
One bitterly cold day near the end of their deployment, Snafu got a letter. It was the first time Eugene could recall having ever seen Snafu receive mail. Snafu acted nonchalant about it, barely breaking conversation as he folded the envelope once and tucked it in his pocket, but it was clear to Eugene that it was something important. When Snafu slipped away a moment later, Eugene let him go, stayed talking with Burgie and Kennedy for a bit. After he figured enough time had passed, he got up and walked slowly back to their room. Snafu was laying back on his bunk, smoking contemplatively, his arm tucked under his head. The letter was laying turned down beside him.   
"Everything alright?" Eugene asked, still in the doorway. Snafu looked over at him, eyes digging in. Eugene could tell he was thinking about saying something biting or crude, an attempt to deflect. He stared patiently back, and Snafu looked away, turned his gaze back to the ceiling.  
"Just fine," he said, and the pull of his lips told Eugene he wasn't lying, or at least not entirely. He gestured to the letter with his cigarette. "An old pal. Got me a lead on some jobs I can jump in on once we get the fuck outta here."   
Eugene crossed the room to his bunk and sat on the edge. "That's good. Where at?" It was annoying that he had to ask, but Snafu had always been cagey about his life back home. Eugene knew he was from northern Louisiana and that he had spent a few years with the CCC before enlisting, but that was the extent of his knowledge.   
"New Orleans." Snafu twisted, reaching up over his head to grind the cigarette out in the metal tin he used as an ashtray in their room. Eugene waited for him to say more but wasn't surprised when that was all he got. Snafu settled back onto his bunk but turned his head to look at him. "What about you, Sledgehammer? What're you gonna do back in Alabama?" He drew the last word out long, mocking.  
Eugene snorted, looked away. "I have no idea," he said, baldly honest. It was galling, in more ways than one. The fact that the future was a white blur that he couldn't seem to put any images on, the fact that everyone else was making plans with something like ease. The fact that Snafu hadn't known where he was going or what he was going to do this whole time, and Eugene hadn't realized. The fact that Snafu didn't have the luxury of not having to make a plan.   
He glanced over at Snafu, saw that he was watching him, most likely hadn't stopped watching him. He met his gaze, held it helplessly, hoping Snafu would understand. None of it was right or fair, none of it made any sense, but here they were. They both knew that things could be worse. Snafu quirked an eyebrow at him and smirked, and Eugene knew he understood enough.  
Waking up alone on the train home wasn't really a surprise, but it hurt nonetheless. It was an ache in his chest that Eugene rubbed absently as he stared at the empty seat across from him. He knew why Snafu hadn't woken him. What was there to say? Thanks for everything, make sure to write? Empty, platitudes, an insult. If not that, then what? _This doesn't feel right, who will keep you out of trouble, who will keep me out of my head, who can I talk to with glances and gestures and silence, let's not get off this train, let's just keep going, let's-_  
Eugene lurched to his feet to stop the litany of words that he never said, would never say. It was still early, the light fitfully gray through the windows of the train. A new day, and Snafu was hours and miles gone. He paced up the aisle, then returned to his seat to grab his pipe and his tobacco. Settling in the dining car, he tamped the tobacco into the bowl and tried to get a handle on his own spinning thoughts. It was better this way, it had to be better this way. If he couldn't convince himself that it was true, he would go mad. He and Snafu had nothing in common besides the war, and the war was over.   
_It's over, it's over, it's over._ Eugene repeated the mantra in his head as he leaned back and lit his pipe. He repeated it until he managed to drown out all the rest, tamp it down.   
Being home was like a dream, in that nothing seemed real. Eugene felt like he was swimming through all his familiar places, through conversations with his family. Sometimes he managed to surface, and then everything was sharper, clearer. But the water would inevitably close in over his head again, and he was exhausted from always trying to orient himself, trying to move, trying to make sense of this known and unknown land.   
The nightmares didn't help, kept the war constantly on his mind, kept him confused and off-kilter because they often felt more real than his waking hours. It was spring, and Eugene took to wandering the fields and woods that surrounded his father's property. He took in all the verdancy, the trilling sweet birdsong, with a confused sort of wonder. This was what he fought in the war for, he supposed. To preserve something beautiful, this gift from God. He wanted that to be true. He wasn't sure it was true.   
True or not, he started to take a journal along with him so that he could make notes of the different types of flowers and birds he saw. Nights when he couldn't sleep he would spend paging through books on flora and fauna that he dug up in his father's study, trying to identify all the things he had seen. It was restful, settling, to be able to look at an image of a little blue bird in a book, to read all that was known about it in a paragraph by its image, and to know that none of those facts could come close to capturing it, flashing jewel-like among the trees, unknown and alive.   
It was lonely, those hours spent walking by himself, and he took grim satisfaction from the honesty of that. He was alone. He was lonely. Out here, away from his family and friends, he didn't have to feel guilty for having the thought. Out here, when his body tilted slightly to the side, shoulder seeking contact with another shoulder, he knew who he was missing.   
He knew he should get out more, try to meet a girl, try to find someone to fill this empty spot next to him. He watched the young women carefully at the social events his mother dragged him to. They were perfumed, colorful, attractive in ways that made them distinct, themselves. He was sure he could find one among them that would make him laugh, ease him. He would touch her, her skin would be soft, she would be so soft, it could be good between them. But when he spoke to them, when he caught their gaze and held it, all he felt was loss. None of their eyes swallowed him whole, like his had from the very first. None of them knew the truth about him, the truth that he didn't want to forget even though it hurt to hold onto it. All the things the war had shown him about himself. Only one person had ever known all that and still swallowed him whole with their eyes.  
Spring gave way to summer in all its wet heat. Eugene didn't let its oppressive weight stop him from his daily rambles, although he did have to stop bringing his journal along in concession to the heavy, unpredictable rain, instead making mental notes and jotting down what he could recall when he returned home. The season for wildflowers had come and gone so he switched his attention to the trees instead, cedar and oak, glossy green magnolia, silvery green cypress. He could feel his family's worry like a rough wool blanket over bare skin. He tried to ignore it the best he could, knew trying to shrug it off was next to useless. He didn't enroll in classes, and simply walked away whenever his mother tried to broach the subject of a girl or a job. She was nothing if not tenacious, though, a stack of university applications appearing one day on his desk. He had to give his mother her dues, she'd planned ahead and hadn't limited herself to just the local ones. She must have written months ago to every university she knew of south of the Mason-Dixon line. He flipped through them idly, and then stuffed them away in the bottom of his drawer. In the evenings he sat outside under the Spanish moss and smoked his pipe and thought _it's over it's over it's over_ until exhaustion and the looming dark drove him back to the house.  
Late September brought a slight relief from the heat and rain, and Sid's wedding. It was a twilight ceremony, romantic and practical, which perfectly described the newly married couple. Eugene saw how they fit together, how they made each other better. Mary spoke frankly about her list of requirements for their future home, but she held Sid's hand the whole time, twisted their fingers together as if she wanted to feel every little bone in his hand against her own. Sid talked about his college courses, described his professors, and kept Mary tucked close against his side, her hip cupped in his hand. It made Eugene happy, it made him miserable. He tried to show Sid all the real, fierce joy he felt for him, tried to keep the rest pressed down tight, but he could tell by the quality of Sid's sharp gaze that he was only partly succeeding. Late into the night, as everyone stood around their car and said their final goodbyes, Sid pulled Eugene aside.  
"Well you did it," Eugene said with a grin. "You convinced the prettiest girl in Mobile to marry a greaser like you. You know the number of dreams you've ended across this city tonight?"  
Sid chuckled and punched his shoulder. "I'd say I tricked her into it, but the woman's too clever by half."  
"Think you might be in over your head," Eugene said in agreement and they grinned at each other, conspiratorial.   
Sid glanced over his shoulder at the car, and turned back with a more serious expression. "We're leaving straight away tonight, won't be back 'til late on Friday." He fixed Eugene with a firm gaze. "On Saturday I'm coming around, and we're gonna talk."  
"Alright," Eugene said, surprised, not knowing what else to do but agree. "Sure." He scanned Sid's face for some indication of what was going through his head, but found himself at a loss. Sid nodded, clasped Eugene on the shoulder, and returned to where Mary stood waiting for him. Eugene watched them drive off with growing panic.   
He was nervous all that week, pacing the house and trying to calm the dread that grew and grew as Saturday approached. What was there to worry over? His best friend wanted to talk with him, that was all. But Eugene couldn't shake the feeling that Sid had things to say that he didn't want to hear, questions to ask that he couldn't answer.  
Sid showed up bright and early Saturday morning, the bastard. He ate breakfast with the Sledges and spoke with all his usual ease and charm about his honeymoon. Sid had always had something about him that made folk around him relax, want to laugh. Eugene watched his parents give in to it happily, but found that he couldn't, too uneasy, wary of what was coming.  
After breakfast he and Sid went for a walk, and Sid barely waited until they were out of earshot before saying, "Talk to me."  
"About what?"   
Sid scoffed. "About anything, Eugene. Whatever you want to talk about. You've been so damn silent, but you've got a million different thoughts spinning around in that head of yours. What's wrong?" He waved a hand at Eugene's incredulous look. "I know, I know what's wrong, alright? But there's something else." He spread his arms out, open. "So talk."  
Eugene was silent for a long moment, trying to think what to say. "I don't know. It's everything." He stared ahead, seeing nothing. "I can't let it go, any of it. Can't move forward, can't move back."   
"You can't live in it, Eugene. You don't have to." He didn't respond, and Sid sighed. "I know you don't wanna to hear it, but the best first step is to find something to lose yourself in, pull you out of thinking about it all the time and back into civilian life." He stopped talking, waited with surprising patience for Eugene to speak.  
"But what if," Eugene stopped, forced himself to continue. "What if I don't want to be pulled out?" Sid stared at him, uncomprehending. "If I'm pulled out, if I stop thinking about it, then I can start lying to myself about what really happened." He gestured vaguely back the way they came. "Doesn't it bother you too? All of them acting like we're goddamn heroes when really they just moved us around like chess pieces, pawns that they could throw away? When all I did over there was kill and hate and wish each and every one of them dead? I can't let myself forget what I did and I sure as hell can't change any of it, but at least I can face it, right?" He was starting to break, he knew it. He couldn't control the shake in his voice, the tremor in his hands. God what he wouldn't give for -   
_\- makes it easier, diseases that will make you sick, i'm sorry, c'mon sledgehammer_  
He sucked in a shuddering breath and turned away from Sid, struggling to bring himself under control. The quiet felt heavy, the weight of half the world.  
"Alright," Sid said, and his voice was gruff. "Yeah, I get it. I know." He stepped up to stand by Eugene, looked uneasily into the distance. "But, there's room for more than that, y'know? You can still choose to try." He shifted awkwardly. "Try to be happy."  
"Happy," Eugene repeated bitterly. "What's that look like, these days?"  
"Fine then," Sid said, irritated now. "Forget being happy. Just choose something."  
"That one's overrated too," Eugene shot back, feeling snagged, pulled out. "I chose to enlist, look where that got me."  
"So now you wish you'd hadn't gone?" He was turned in towards him now, edging over into real anger.  
"Of course I - " Eugene stopped, suddenly unable to finish the sentence. Could he really say that, say he wished he'd never gone? Who would he be right now if he had stayed home? He would have never met Oswalt, or Leyden and Burgie. He wouldn't have known Ack-Ack, Hillbilly, Haney. He would have never known Snafu. He had been silent, staring at nothing, for too long, he knew. "I'm sorry," he said, overly loud, because he was, because he wanted to skip over all this to the end. Sid just glared at him, unsatisfied. Eugene looked away, tried to dredge up the truth because Sid deserved that. "I think I could do it. I could get a job, get married. I could choose that. Be happy. But I," He trailed off, adrift.  
"Alright." Eugene could tell from his tone that Sid was confused, unsure what Eugene was trying to say, unsure how to respond. "Like I said, forget being happy. Choose something worth fighting for. Something that," he laughed helplessly, continued. "That, if you're never happy again for a single day of your life, you can still look at and know you're fighting for something that's worth the misery."  
Eugene felt that same ache in his chest, sharper now, but somehow better for no longer being dulled. His eyes watered fiercely and he looked down, to the side, everywhere but at Sid until he had himself back under control. When he was ready, when he could, he looked back at him and smiled. "You're not half as dumb as we all thought, you know that?"  
Sid barked a laugh. They grinned at each other, conspiratorial.  
They walked back to the house together and said their goodbyes, and Eugene ducked back into his room. He crossed to his desk and looked down at his worn bible, weathered and bent and stuffed to the brim with his jotted down notes. All those pressed down things inside him swelled up, choked in his throat. He grabbed the bible and walked back out the door.  
If it was worthwhile, worth the fight, did that also mean that it was right and good in the eyes of God? The Pacific had taught him how tenuous these things could be, how quickly all the right reasons fell away into vicious thoughts and evil deeds. Eugene had kept his faith all through the war, no matter how uneasily he sat with it at times. It had remained a comfort to him when he read his bible, had given him strength when he wrapped his fingers around the cross on his neck and squeezed. Eugene eventually stopped wandering, sat down beneath a live oak and looked around him. It was early October now, and the colors of the world were shifting, becoming variegated. It was all too much, too beautiful. He stared, let it overwhelm him. He thought about Snafu.  
All through the war they had watched each other, measuring themselves against one another, how far gone they were, how close they were to shattering. Eugene remembered Snafu's face after they had survived being targeted by their own people, dropping his gun, settling his hands on either side of his helmet and staring at nothing. He remembered him holding that poncho for over an hour the night that Hamm died, the night they fought. They had watched each other, but Eugene had never reached out, hadn't really felt that reaching out was an option. But Snafu had. He saw him in their tent on Pavuvu, a touch to his arm, surprising. _Look at my eyes, I'm dying Sledge._ He remembered his uneasy attempts to comfort him after Eugene learned about Deacon's death, how he settled in close and bumped their shoulders together. He heard his voice, sharp, a little desperate, _Don't_ , when Eugene had almost pulled gold from that dead man's mouth. Eugene had watched him do that very same thing their first day on Peleliu, had felt horrified, thought him monstrous. It hadn't taken him long to learn. There was a monster inside each and every one of them.   
God knew he was familiar with his own. That POW he'd nearly killed, that dying man he had shot until he stopped moving while Mac yelled at him to cease fire. How he'd despised Hamm for reminding him of himself, his cold words to him. The hate, all the damn hate, that he felt for all those faceless, nameless people, the bitter pleasure he took in thinking of them dead. The hut, the family, the baby. The woman he'd killed but couldn't shoot, the woman he held close to his chest, his breaking heart. When his time came, when he died, there would be plenty to answer for, plenty of reasons to see him damned, but Christ, what he felt for Snafu was not one of them.   
What he felt for Snafu.  
The realization came over him like cold water, left him gasping. It wasn't wrong, it wasn't evil. It had saved him, pulled him back each time he almost lost himself to despair and antipathy. It had been his saving grace.  
His bible was in his lap. He had brought it along with the idea of reading through it, but it remained unopened. Yet Eugene hadn't felt closer to God since before his deployment. He blinked heavily, refocusing on the world around him. The sun was just starting to lower in the western sky. He had somehow managed to sit out here the majority of the day, hadn't moved in hours, hadn't felt the time. He reoriented himself so that he was facing the setting sun, wrapped his arms around his knees.  
God, how was he? Eugene had purposefully not thought about Snafu ever since returning home. He was a black gap in his mind that he circled constantly, couldn't walk away from, wouldn't illuminate. Now that he let himself, all the pent up worries came bubbling out. Was he taking care of himself, did he have anyone to talk to? Was he coping alright, did he think of Eugene, Jesus, did he think of Eugene the same way Eugene was thinking of him?   
It was frightening, a new unexpected worry. Eugene might think it worth the fight, but that could only take him so far if Snafu didn't feel the same way. And yet, Eugene could feel a big, fierce grin tugging its way across his face. Even if he didn't, even if it hurt, and God yes it would hurt if he didn't, that wouldn't change what Eugene knew. It wouldn't make him any less sure of his decision. No matter what Snafu felt, he was worth choosing. He was Eugene's choice.  
He watched the sun until it disappeared completely, walked home in the gloom, so elated and exhausted in equal measure that he didn't feel his typical unease at being alone outside in the dark. He slipped in through the kitchen, hoping to avoid his parents. He was hungry, hadn't eaten since breakfast, and he thought he might try to slip up to his room with something pilfered and start planning out what his next step should be. It was just his luck that both his mother and father happened to be in the kitchen when he walked in, standing close together in a quiet conversation.  
They both turned towards him as he entered, their expressions different combinations of relief, weariness, wariness. His mother took a step towards him. "Eugene, where have you been, I've been worried sick over you," she said in a distraught whisper. "You must cease this constant wandering off without letting anyone - "  
"Now, Mary," his father cut her off, also speaking oddly low, and Mary turned her distressed face back towards her husband.  
Guilt and irritation rose up in him, fighting for dominance. He hated that he had become a source of conflict for his mother and father. They argued frequently over him, often right in front of him, like he was some sort of backwards child. But he knew he was at fault too. He hadn't done a damn thing to try and make it easier for them, had refused all their attempts to talk to him, to understand.   
"I'm sorry," he said, and that had them turning back around to look at him. He smiled hesitantly at them both. "I went for a walk and lost track of time. Watched the sunset." He cast about for something else to say that might reassure them, but couldn't think of anything. God, he needed to sleep, and then he needed to find Snafu.  
His mother's face softened and his father smiled at him. "It's alright, son," he said gently, and then his mother touched his arm and he glanced over his shoulder towards the dining room, his face becoming serious again. "It's just, you also have a visitor."  
Eugene frowned, surprised. Sid was the only one he had kept up with since coming home, he couldn't think of anyone else who would drop in to see him. "Who is it?"  
"He said he served with you on your mortar squad?" His mother couched it as a question, as if she suspected it might be a lie, but Eugene barely noticed because his heart had stuttered to a stop in his chest, then lurched back to life at a double beat. It couldn't be. "He's been in the sitting room for over an hour now, we didn't quite know what to do, what with you being out and not knowing when you'd get back."  
"Young man by the name of Merriell Shelton," his father supplied, redirecting the conversation. "He said he traveled from - " But the rest was lost because Eugene was in motion, pushing past them, through the dining room, into the hallway. His heart had thundered itself right out of his body, was pulling him on towards the sitting room where, where -  
Where Snafu was sitting in an armchair, arms wrapped loosely around his chest, looking uncomfortable and stubborn. His head snapped up when Eugene appeared in the doorway, and he rose from the chair with none of his usual strange, languid grace.   
"Gene," he said.  
  
_Gene. Look at me. We both know it. I don't wanna be in this damn hospital bed anymore._  
_But if we let them -_  
_It'd just buy us a little time, a little more misery, and then we'd be right back here._  
_I'd take that._  
_Gene. Mon coeur._  
_\----_  
_Take me home._


	3. The shape that I'm in now, your shape in the doorway

_"Snaf. You sleeping?"_  
_"Not anymore. What is it?" He never really seemed to sleep anyways, just drifted around his own head. He heard Eugene approach, felt his arms come around him as he helped him sit up._  
_"Got some soup for you to eat," he said as he arranged the pillows behind his back. "Yaka."_  
_"You can't make that," Merriell replied suspiciously._  
_Eugene laughed. "No, I sure can't. It's from the neighbors."_  
_"Aw, merde. You didn't let them in, did you?" Eugene didn't bother answering, just stood over him holding the bowl of soup. "I ain't hungry."_  
_"Just eat a bit." There was no arguing with that tone. It was strange, how he could smell it, but not taste it. Merriell would maybe be more bothered by it, except he didn't feel the urge to eat much anyways. He took a couple of sips of the broth to please Eugene, and then lifted a hand, gestured enough. Eugene sighed, but set the bowl down on the ground. "Alright. You still feeling tired? Want me to move these pillows?"_  
_Merriell shook his head. "I'll stay like this." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Read something to me."_  
_"What?"_  
_"Anything, you know I don't care. Just wanna hear your voice."_

"Snafu," Eugene said wonderingly from the doorway. His eyes were a little wild, his mouth pulled back in something like distress. "What are you doing here?"   
Good fucking question. Merriell had asked himself variations of that question, on the train ride east, which managed to be both too short and too long, and as he wandered around Mobile, larger and busier than he had expected, asking for directions. The questions had gone on in an endless loop as he walked through the gates ( _fucking gates, Eugene?_ ) and up the long drive towards the sprawling house. All these big old trees, perfectly spaced, all this carefully manicured green, it all belonged to Eugene, to his family. He managed to push the doubt out of his head as he asked to see Eugene, introduced himself, first to the help, and then to his parents. Eugene wasn't in, perhaps he could come back tomorrow, maybe at an earlier hour? But they were too polite to refuse when he asked if he could wait on him, had invited him in, almost managing to hide their reluctance, took him in some fancy little side room where all the chairs looked like they weren't supposed to be sat on and offered him _refreshments_. Merriell drank water and tried to not move in his seat. They asked him questions, and he answered as vaguely and politely as possible. The seconds seemed to drag by, the Sledges starting to become increasingly uncomfortable, wanting him gone, and Merriell starting to feel downright belligerent. He wasn't leaving until he saw him. Had to see him.   
They had eventually excused themselves, probably scurrying off somewhere to debate on whether or not to call the sheriff, and Merriell scowled into the silence, glared at the walls. Maybe this was his answer. All that effort, and the man up and disappears on him. Made a sort of sense. There was a sudden clamoring, the sound of someone in the hall, and then Eugene was there, a palm thrown against the side of the door to stop his forward momentum, eyes latching onto Merriell.   
_What am I doing here?_  
"What's it look like," he answered, taking refuge in his irritation. "Sitting around waiting on you, trying to convince your parents I'm not here to steal the silver. Don't think I did too good a job of it."  
Eugene stared hard at him, gaze unwavering, but his lips pulled down. Fighting a smile. "What, did we set something up that I forgot about? Some plan that involved you showing up at - " He glanced at the large clock in the corner of the room, "nine o'clock at night?"  
"Wasn't nine when I got here," Merriell pointed out. "Where've you been, that's the real question. Out painting the town? Don't tell me you've gone and learned how to have fun, Sledgehammer." Eugene snorted in response.  
"The opposite, actually." Merriell tsked mockingly. "I - " He stopped, looking over his shoulder as his parents appeared behind him, faces openly curious. Eugene stepped into the room and they followed after. He looked steady and calm, but it was only on the surface, the same way he would get sometimes while they were waiting to be put back on rotation. "Mother, Father. This is Merriell Shelton. He got me through the war. Got me home."  
As introductions went, it sure was something. It threw Merriell right off, and he could see that his parents were surprised by Eugene's words as well. The silence went on a beat too long, and then Merriell grunted dismissively. "Naw, don't listen to a word of it. Was more the other way around, from what I recall."  
"Well, your head never was too good," Eugene replied and Merriell laughed, he couldn't help it, goddamn Eugene. His parents were smiling now, looking back and forth between them, pleased. Eugene turned back to face them. "Merriell's gonna be staying with us while he's in town, is that alright." It wasn't really a question, and Merriell was thrown again. He hadn't seen Eugene quite like this before, politely certain, a little commanding. It was arousing as hell.  
"Of course, your friend is welcome to stay for as long as he likes," Mrs. Sledge said, recovering, putting on a genteel smile. "You can stay in Edward's room, Merriell, I'll just go along and freshen it up."  
_Freshen it up?_ "Thank you, ma'am," he said, awkward. She smiled at him, more warmly than before. She had dark eyes, Eugene's eyes.  
"Come on, Snaf." Eugene reached down, grabbed Merriell's small pack. Merriell fell into step beside him, easy as anything, as if they'd never been apart at all. Eugene smelled different, soil and dry grass and sweat free of that particular odor that fear gave it. He followed him down a hallway and through a couple other rooms, until they reached a big, open one that he realized was the kitchen. _Merde,_ it was nearly as big as his whole apartment. Eugene set his pack down on the table and went to the refrigerator. "You hungry? I'll make us a couple of sandwiches."  
"Sure," Merriell said, leaning up against the table and watching Eugene, drinking him in while he was occupied. He looked tired, but otherwise good. Clean and healthy, happy. He watched in amusement as Eugene crossed back over to him and dumped an ungodly amount of meat, cheese and vegetables on the table, got to work putting the sandwiches together. "How you been, Gene," he murmured, and Eugene's eyes flicked up to him, a little startled. His tone had been too sincere, too affectionate. "Job, girl, plans?"  
"Plans," Eugene answered promptly. He shook his head ruefully, returned his focus to the food. "Constantly shifting plans, as it turns out."  
"Yeah?" He waited for more, but Eugene stayed quiet. Merriell turned and walked the length of the table, stopping in surprise when he saw Eugene's old bible laying on the corner nearest the back door. He chuckled, laid a finger on the cover. "You still carrying this thing around?"  
Eugene colored right up, unaccountably embarrassed. "No, not really," he muttered. "Just happened to take it along with me today. That's what I've been doing." He smiled, a sharp, bitter thing, turned against himself. "I snap at my family and avoid everyone I know by walking around outdoors all day." He glanced at Merriell, looked away, jaw tight.  
"That ain't true," Merriell said after a moment. His eyes were too open, too alive for that to be true. Eugene looked at him and Merriell stared back. _Ne te cache pas de moi_.  
His smile was soft this time. "It's true, but not the whole truth." He slid a sandwich over to Merriell, took a bite out of his own, eyes on the window, the back door. "I like it. It's become a hobby, I guess. It's quiet." He looked back to Merriell. "I bird watch, try to identify different plants and flowers that I come across."  
"Sounds like you," Merriell said around a mouthful of food. He swallowed, clarified. "Dull." He grinned when Eugene snorted and shoved at him. "Naw, it's good. You do what you want, Sledgehammer." They ate in silence after that, standing side by side. Merriell could feel himself wanting to smile, had to keep fighting it off, but he didn't feel too much of a fool over it since it was clear Eugene was fighting one off too. Merriell pulled his pack out of his pocket. "Alright if I smoke in here?"  
"What the hell do you think," Eugene said with a scoff, and pushed him out the back door, closing it behind them. They sat together on Eugene's long low porch while Merriell smoked. It was all a little too quiet for his taste, especially after living in New Orleans, where a body could always hear music playing somewhere, where it sometimes seemed that people existed just to jaw at one another about anything under the sun. But Eugene seemed to like it, so that was alright. He finished his smoke and leaned down to stub it out in the grass. Settling back, he found Eugene watching him with that same old gaze, soft and sharp.   
"Why are you here, Snafu?" His voice was gentle, a velvet murmur. It shivered through Merriell, made him want to lean in and do something truly stupid, bite down on his clavicle, lick the skin under his chin.   
He looked away, twitchy, trying to pull free. _I had to know, I couldn't stand it, I missed you_. "I don't know," he muttered, because he was a fucking coward.   
The silence stretched on and on, and he felt himself stretching along with it, until, "Merriell." He turned, surprised. Eugene was still watching him. His expression hadn't changed. "I'm happy that you're here," he said, simply, sweetly. He held Merriell's eyes, letting him know he meant it, then stood with sigh. "Come on. I'm exhausted. I'm sure my parents are still awake, waiting on us to come in."  
Later, laying in some stranger's bed, Merriell stared up into the dark. It was black as pitch, the curtains over the window filtering the moonlight that came through into just the faintest of glows. And it was so damn quiet, a quiet that reminded him of those awful nights on Peleliu, when the only comfort in the world was Eugene's near warmth, the sound of his breathing. It was unsettling, to know Eugene was sleeping nearby but be unable to hear him shuffling in his sleep.   
_I'm happy that you're here_.  
Merriell mulled that over, tried to twist it different ways and see if he could make it take the shape he wanted it to. No matter how Eugene had meant those words, it settled one thing for him. It wasn't a complete mistake, coming here. Even if he ended up, as he most likely would, returning to New Orleans like a whipped mutt, Eugene had been happy to see him.   
It was probably still a mistake though. Merriell had burned some bridges leaving town like he had, and all so he could settle his mind on the longest shot of a wishful idea, a niggling thought in the back of his head that he hadn't been able to shake out, that had started driving him a little mad.  
Getting off the train in New Orleans, Merriell had rented the first room he could find, dumped his sea bag, and gone out to get blind drunk. The next morning had been hell, but he'd dragged himself out of bed and onto the street, visiting the different addresses he'd been given until, at the end of the day, he found himself with a cheap room and a job. The room was above a barber shop, a few streets away from the square where the neighborhood gathered to dance and play music, so that if he opened his windows he could hear the brassy tunes clearly. If he closed them, he could still hear them pretty damn well. The stove and icebox were in one corner, the bed in another. There was a table and a broken down chest of drawers, and that was all. If he needed to shower or take a shit, he had to go out his door and downstairs to the unit attached to the back of the building.   
The job was at a lumber yard. It was hard work, but good for Merriell and his state of mind. He had to pay attention if he didn't want to lose a finger, had to focus completely on the most repetitive tasks, clear his head of all other thoughts. It kept him blank and directed, at least during his working hours. As for the rest of the time, well. He kept his head screwed on tight, for the most part.  
After he had settled in a bit, worked his first full week and re-familiarized himself with the city, he went on a bend. He danced, he drank, he stumbled from place to place until he found the one that he had been looking for, one where he could find a man. It had been too long since Merriell had been fucked, and he had the stupid idea that getting some would do something about the goddamn ache he was carrying around with him. That first time, taken back to someone else's shitty room, he wasn't drunk enough to make the mistake of taking them back to his own, he had been so desperate for it that he hadn't even thought of Eugene. That was the one and only time he managed that. He left right after and returned to the reeling lights, the blaring music. He must have stumbled home at some point, because he woke up there the following afternoon, was sick in a drawer, and went out to do it all over again. The night before he had to return to work, or maybe early that morning, he found himself leaning up against the wall of a building with some young thing down on her knees in front of him. He looked at her and thought about Eugene's long, mobile mouth and came with a full body shudder.   
It took him days to fully recover, and he decided then not to repeat the experience. He hadn't gotten what he wanted out of it anyways. For the next few months he limited himself to beers after work with the boys from the lumber yard and the occasional slug of something stronger at night to help him sleep. Most nights he slept just fine, working all day under the sun was good for that at least, but sometimes the memories kept him up, made him jittery. Thoughts of the war, mostly, but also of further back, and of course Eugene. It was nights like those that made it hard to ignore the call of the trumpets, the sounds of laughter, and Merriell wasn't the sort to deny himself pleasure when it was there for the taking. So he went and did it again, lost himself in the merriment and music, in the bodies of strangers.   
He had never been one for introspection, but the thought occurred to him after the third or fourth time he cut loose and acted like an idiot that maybe he wasn't doing too great. It was August, so stickily, insufferably hot that Merriell felt sick from it, working like a dog in the heavy heat, sawdust clinging to sweat, snarling at anyone who tried talking to him. Of course, he'd felt like hell from the moment he'd lifted his head that morning, still half-drunk from the night before, nothing but a churning stomach and a pounding skull. On the streetcar home it made him viciously happy to see the other passengers edge away from his scowl and hard stare. The fact that he stank probably had something to do with it too. He bought a couple oranges at the corner grocer's because he didn't think his guts could handle anything else and trudged back to his apartment. It was there, sitting at the table, smoking and peeling an orange, that he'd had the thought. He looked around his room. Despite living there for nearly six months he hadn't done a single thing to the place to make it his own. All his possessions could still fit in his sea bag. He might as well be a fucking ghost.   
It wasn't like he'd had any big expectations about what his life would be like as a civilian. Hell, he hadn't had any expectations at all. But this, he didn't think he could keep this up. He grunted to himself and shoved half the orange into his mouth, rubbed the skin between his fingertips, pebbly firm on one side, softer and malleable on the other. He couldn't think of what he should do instead.  
_Aller le voir._  
That was the worst idea of all. Sure, he had spent plenty sleepless nights revisiting memories of Eugene, especially those months in Peking, wondering if he'd missed something. Sure, he thought of him every time he got off, whether alone or with someone else. It was fucking ridiculous, actually, and so was the idea of going to see him. He stuffed the rest of the orange in his mouth and went down to shower.  
But the idea took root and just dug deeper as he went on. _Not like you've got anything to lose,_ he thought to himself as he stood in his doorway and smoked one sleepless night. The brass bands were going lively but he hadn't given in yet. _Just to check in on him, make sure he's good,_ as he shot shit with the barber who rented him his room, flirted with his daughter just to irritate the man. _Maybe he needs you too,_ after he woke up from some nightmare that he couldn't remember. He never remembered his dreams, but he always knew when he had been dreaming about the war from the mood that settled on him when he woke up, usually with a heart-lurching start. Dull, sullen anger.   
That decided it for him, and he moved quickly after that, not seeing any reason not to. He left his sea bag full of his possessions with a buddy from work because he didn't trust the neighborhood once people started to notice that he wasn't around each day. He was paid up on rent for the next month so that was good enough. If the old man decided to give it to someone else it wasn't any big loss. When he told his boss he was leaving town and didn't rightly know when he'd be back he was fired on the spot, and stood sourly smirking while the man yelled in his face for a full five minutes. He wanted to lay the fat fucker out, but didn't want to risk showing up at Eugene's looking busted up.  
It wouldn't be difficult to find Eugene, he knew his address. The boy received letters so regularly from home that probably half of K Company had his address memorized by the time they rotated back. He managed to just _do_ and not think much about what he was doing until he found himself on a train, rolling out of New Orleans. Sitting there, gnawing on his lip and remembering the last train he was on, he had to admit to himself that he was a goddamn lovesick fool. But there was nothing else for it.  
Things hadn't gone too badly so far, he supposed, sitting at the open window now, blowing smoke out into the quiet. Shit, even the insects were well-mannered here, murmuring softly out in the trees, not loud enough to mask any of the little sounds he made as he shifted on the windowsill. He didn't see how anyone could fall asleep when they could hear their own breathing, but he closed the window and laid back down on the bed anyways and he must have managed it at some point because the next thing he knew he was rolling over in response to something and looking up and Eugene was standing in the doorway.  
They ate breakfast, and then Eugene was pulling him along in that same way he had back in Peking. He was borrowing his father's car so that he and Merriell could go into town. "Have to give you the grand tour," he said in explanation, face serious, eyes amused, but Merriell knew that he'd picked up on his discomfort. He hated it, and would have said something to make it clear that he was _fine_ , but the Sledges were right there, staring at them. Eugene seemed to startle his parents every time he spoke, and his announcement that they were going to town was no exception.   
"If you're feeling up to going out," Mrs. Sledge said, like Eugene was sickly or something, "Maybe you boys would like to go to church with us. It's been - "  
Eugene snorted, and then immediately looked guilty. "Some other time, Mother. I don't think Snafu wants to meet the entire congregation, least not on his first day." He glanced at Merriell, lips quirked. "Gotta ease him into it."  
Something about the way he said it, something about his face when he said it, sent an electric thrill right through Merriell. Thankfully, he didn't have to try and think up a response, because Eugene motioned with his arm and they were going out the front door.  
It was quiet in town, which Merriell supposed made sense, god-fearing folk and all that. They walked aimlessly, Eugene pointing out different places and sharing stories about his family or himself through them. He told them easily, casually, giving away bits of himself without a thought. Merriell listened, more to his voice than his words, but he still heard what Eugene was actually saying, with each little anecdote he told. This was his home. It gave him a distant feeling of satisfaction, this confirmation that Eugene had come back home with all those roots still intact. But it twisted too, along his spine, in his head. Eugene was fine, he was happy.  
_What am I doing here?_  
He'd been mostly silent, letting Eugene ramble on. It was a real treat, Eugene had never been much for talk for its own sake, and Merriell liked the soft hum of his voice. But Eugene had obviously noticed the shift in his mood, because he stopped talking and pressed his shoulder against Merriell's. Checking in. Affection and irritation, so bound up together that they were almost one feeling, had Merriell rolling his shoulder, wanting space. "Charming," he drawled, indicating the town with a tilt of his head. "Whole place is a picture."   
"I suppose it is," Eugene said, considering. He was quiet for a moment before saying, "What about New Orleans? You like it there?"  
Merriell grunted, half raised an open palm. "Well enough. Food's good, music's good." Eugene just watched him, those dark eyes opening him up, making him go on. "Folk there are all a little crazy, and they know it. They like it that way." _I like it that way_. He didn't say it, but he could tell that Eugene picked up on it by the little head dip he gave him, the warmth in his gaze.   
They walked down to the shipyards and stood looking at the half-built boats and their surrounding metal framework, the cranes looming over the whole of it. Merriell thought about all the different occasions he'd had to get off and on boats just like the ones being built in front of him. He wondered what the odds were that one of those boats had been built here, that Eugene had lain eyes on it before it was completed. The thought sat wrong with him, all sharp angles, and he pushed it away and glanced over at Eugene. His gaze was focused on the industry in front of him, but he was miles away. Merriell knew where he'd gone. He brushed his arm with the back of his hand. "C'mon, Sledgehammer. View's awful."   
"Yeah," Eugene answered distantly. "Yeah, it really is." They turned and walked back into town, the shipyards pressing against their backs and urging them on. It was early afternoon now, they'd spent the entire morning strolling, and the place was getting a little more lively as the churches let out. They stopped at a diner to grab a bite, and Eugene was greeted with warm surprise by their waitress when she got to their table. She was a cute little thing, and it was obvious she had an eye for Eugene. He was polite and reserved with her, he'd been that way with the girls during the war too, on the few occasions they'd had to interact with any. A gentleman. Merriell had always teased him ruthlessly over it. Now, he turned his attention on the girl, flirted with her extravagantly, partially to get a rise out of Eugene, and partially to get her to stop making eyes at him. She flirted back, friendly and light, but her focus kept shifting back to Eugene. Merriell couldn't really hold it against her.  
They'd left the diner and had started slowly making their way back towards the car, when Eugene stopped suddenly. He turned to Merriell and gestured to a cinema across the street, eyes amused. "Wanna watch a film?" Merriell felt a smile tugging away at the corner of his lip. They crossed and bought tickets.  
Watching films had been a way to pass the time, first on Pavuvu, and then Peking. Half the fun for Merriell had been in shouting crude suggestions at the screen to make the boys laugh, and aggravate and embarrass Sledge. But they were in polite society now, in a dark room instead of out under the stars, so Merriell contented himself with leaning over and muttering them into Eugene's ear instead. Besides, it let him get close, even if just for a bit. He'd gotten a few good glares for his efforts, and finally managed to make him blush with one particularly coarse comment. Grinning, feeling pleased with himself, he pulled away to settle back in his seat, and was surprised to feel Eugene following after him, leaning in against his shoulder. He was staring at him, and the expression in his eyes was new. It was something like a challenge, something warm and catching, hot coals, a low fire. Their noses, Merriell realized, were scarcely an inch apart. He could lean forward and inhale him. He could tilt his head, press in and taste him. And Eugene would let him. Jesus Christ, Eugene would let him. Merriell almost groaned aloud, he was so suddenly, tightly aroused, buzzing all over with the shock of _knowing_. He wrenched his gaze away, forced himself to breathe. After all, they weren't alone, this wasn't the place for it. More importantly, he was about to fucking lose it.  
_Merde_ , he had no idea what the hell was going on. Eugene wasn't supposed to look at him like that, a look like that should only exist in Merriell's mind, except he'd never been able to dream up something to equal it. If Eugene could look at him like that, then would he - did he also think about - Merriell was dizzy with the possibilities, all the ways it could go wrong. The few ways it could go right.   
He didn't want some quick fuck, although he wouldn't say no, he was too damn desperate to say no, if that was all Eugene wanted. And why would he want more than that, Eugene was stepping back into his life here in Mobile, he was good. Good. The idea of Eugene wanting something more with him was crazy.  
But he knew Eugene. He wasn't built for casual exchanges of sex, for using someone's body and walking away unmoved. Whatever it was Eugene wanted, it wasn't to fuck Merriell out of his system and move on.   
Merriell glanced back over at him. He was staring fixedly at the screen, hell if Merriell had any idea anymore what it was about, and Eugene probably didn't either because it was easy to see he was all tensed up. Nervous. _Pauvre petite chose_ , Merriell thought smugly, fondly. _I'll take care of you_. He leaned back in, grinning, waited for Eugene to meet his eyes with a wary gaze. "Gene," he murmured, rolling his name up with promise, "You're a regular public menace."  
The guarded look faded from his face and he colored up, nice and pink. Merriell was going to have to rethink all those blushes and what they signified. "I wonder how that happened," he answered dryly. Merriell snorted softly and sat back in his seat. They sat silent the rest of the film, not touching, but the anticipation was a live thing tugging between them.   
Stepping out of the cinema and into the bright afternoon light made them both stop for a minute, reorienting. The town was fair to bustling now, and Merriell looked around with a surveyor's eye, newly critical. It wasn't the sort of place he would choose to settle, he had to admit, but it was Eugene's home, so that was alright. He rolled his head to the side to look at Eugene, found him watching him, all soft and open. The moment stretched, thick and sweet, honey dark. Eugene's lip quirked to the side as he spoke. "Let's -"  
"Eugene?"  
Their heads snapped forwards, towards the direction of the voice. There was a man crossing the street, familiar-looking, eyes going back and forth between them.  
"Sid," Eugene said, surprised. He waited until Sid reached them, stepping back on the pavement to make room. "Snafu, you remember Sid Phillips, H Company, 1st Marines?"  
Merriell tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Phillips." He remembered him, had gambled with him a few times, but the boy had been too sharp to make him a smart choice to play with regularly. He hadn't had much to do with him otherwise.  
"Snafu came up to visit, got in last night," Eugene said to Sid.   
"Yeah? Welcome to Mobile." His tone said the opposite. "Come up for any particular reason?"  
Too sharp by half. Merriell felt himself starting to bristle. He stared Phillips in the eye. "Heard so much about the place from Sledge here, thought I'd see for myself if it lived up to the talk." He grinned, sly and mean, daring the man to say otherwise, call him out. "You know what? It's just about perfect."  
Sid's mouth twisted down in response. He glared back, eyes bright with the will to fight, but Merriell had learned long ago how to win at that game. People didn't like to be reminded of that other version of themselves, the one lurking around behind the face they showed to the world. But Merriell wasn't afraid to show his own, and that was usually all it took to get them to show their neck. So far, it had only not worked on one person, _le beau bâtard_. Phillips, predictably, couldn't cut it. His gaze dropped, he scowled at the space between them.  
Eugene was frowning at them both. "Sid, you don't gotta - " he stopped when Sid looked at him, transferring that accusing stare. Something passed between them, some sort of silent communication that left Merriell cold and angry.   
"Need to talk to you for a second," Sid grated out, and Eugene nodded, looking defeated.   
"Alright." He shot Merriell an apologetic look. "Sorry. Can you," he gestured for Merriell to wait. "I'll just be a second."  
"Sure Sledgehammer," Merriell said easily, gutting Sid Phillips in his mind. He pulled his pack out as he watched them walk a little distance away, lit a smoke as he watched them stop and turn to one another, speaking intently. He'd always been bad at reading lips so he didn't bother trying to tell what they were saying, but he watched their faces. Phillips seemed mostly frustrated, but Merriell didn't really give a shit about him. Eugene held himself still, eyes steady on his friend's face as they spoke. His expression kept shifting back and forth between weary and stubborn. At one point he got all red and Merriell didn't know what to make of that, wondered what Sid had said to get that kind of reaction out of him. But then Eugene was walking away, eyes somber, mouth flat. He shot Merriell one speaking glance, _don't ask, let's go_ , and Merriell flicked the rest of his cigarette to the ground and glared quick and hateful at Phillips before turning away to fall into step with Eugene.  
The drive back was quiet, unhappy. Eugene stared straight ahead with a tight jaw and Merriell moved around in his seat, restless.  
"Hey, you ever seen one of them big, pink birds around here?" He blurted out eventually.   
Eugene frowned, glanced over at him. "What?"  
"Big, pink bird. Long legs, big 'ole beak. Must have been at least four feet tall." Eugene was looking back and forth between him and the road now, brow raised in interest. "Saw one out on the bayou once when I was small. Sure made an impression, I'd never seen anything like that before. My old man said it must have gotten blown in on a storm." He didn't tell the rest of the story, how his daddy had shot it while it was walking slow and strange through the low waters, how Merriell had been so surprised that it almost felt for a moment like he'd been shot. How he'd had to spend the rest of the morning in the shed with the damn thing, plucking all those long shining feathers.  
"Sounds like a flamingo," Eugene said. "I think they show up regularly down in Florida. I've never heard of them going further north than that."  
"Well, I saw one, swear to Christ. A flamingo." Merriell rolled the word around in his mouth. Its name fit his memory of the thing. "No way you've seen anything to beat that on your bird walks."  
Eugene's mouth twisted, a small smile. "They don't gotta be big and pink to be worth seeing, Snaf." He sounded like a lecturing old man. "I've spotted all sorts of songbirds. Saw a barn swallow a couple of times. Beautiful, blue as," he gestured helplessly. "Blue as anything. Woodpeckers, they're distinctive looking, all bold colors." He droned on, listing other birds he'd seen, and Merriell listened, chiming in to make fun of him where he could.   
By the time they'd reached Eugene's home the mood had lifted away from them, but Merriell could see it trying to settle back on Eugene as he parked the car, as his words trailed off. Merriell grunted as he slid out of his seat. "Well, come on then." Eugene looked askance at him over the hood of the car, and Merriell gestured over his shoulder with his head, away from the house. "Show me all these birds you been going on about. I'd lay money down that we won't see a damn thing." Eugene scoffed.  
"Not with you running your mouth constantly, that's for sure." But his eyes were bright. "Alright, come on."  
They walked through meadows and under trees, and Merriell kept quiet, and Eugene only spoke to identify birds and plants that caught his eye. It suited Eugene, Merriell decided, all the reds and golds, the deep browns. Eugene moved through the shifting colors with a loose stride, shoulders straight, eyes sharp, something out of a story. How could something so rare and strange be so familiar at the same time? Merriell couldn't understand it.   
By the time they stopped walking, leaning up against a big tree that Eugene said was called a cherrybark, Merriell had no idea where the hell they were or how long they'd been walking. "You do this every day?" He asked, and whistled appreciatively when Eugene nodded. "Sure is a good way to keep from getting soft." Eugene just hummed in response and Merriell slid to the ground, groaning with pleasure as the bark dragged at his back. It was getting on to evening now, the light changing and condensing. If he was in New Orleans, he'd probably be out drinking, dancing, pressed up tight against someone, alone. He tilted his head up to look at Eugene, still standing over him, looking down on him with a careful expression.  
"Snafu." His tone was serious, intent, his dark gaze pinning. "Tell me why you came to see me." Shit, there he went again with those eyes, holding him down and not letting him go. Merriell wanted to look away, couldn't look away.  
"Don't know," he mumbled, fighting all the half-formed responses that rose up so easily. They were all lies, distractions. "Just." Now he did look away, anywhere but at him. "Just felt like there were some things I hadn't said that I should of." All of a sudden he felt angry at Eugene, standing over him, making him small. He looked back up at him, glared accusingly. "Maybe you have some things you should have said too."  
"Yeah," Eugene said, after a long, fraught moment. "Yeah, you're right, I do." He sighed and sat down, situating himself so that he was leaning against the tree, but turned in towards Merriell. Their shoulders and knees barely brushed. Eugene cleared his throat, looked down at his hands. "I never thanked you. For everything. Everything you did."  
Merriell barked a laugh and looked away, disappointed. "That ain't it."  
"It is," Eugene said defensively. "Of course it is. Snafu, you think I don't realize what you kept me from?" Merriell chuckled, uneasily this time, fingers tapping against each other. "Don't you laugh," Eugene snapped. "Don't you dare laugh. Why'd you do it?"  
Merriell glared at him helplessly. "You," he started, stopped. "I wanted to. You were all," his face twisted, he spat it out, " _perfect_ , fuck. I didn't want you to lose yourself out there. Wasn't right."  
"'Perfect'," Eugene echoed, flat. He shook his head. "You know better than anyone that I'm far from perfect." Merriell didn't know any such thing, but he kept his mouth shut. "Only difference between us is that you didn't look after yourself the way you did me." Something moved across his face and was gone before Merriell could identify it. His mouth pulled back, wry. "You know something? Last night, before I came home, I'd decided to go to New Orleans to find you."   
"You." Merriell's voice got tangled up in his throat, in his chest. "Why?"   
"Why do you think? Why not? Because after all the shit we've been through, I don't give a damn what anyone thinks." He gestured between them. "Because this ain't something to be ashamed of. Because I wanted to, because you're worth it."  
Something was breaking inside of him, something he wasn't ever going to be able to patch back up. It fucking hurt, to be seen, to be pulled in and not pushed away. "C'mere," he murmured, reaching out, he couldn't not reach out. He settled a hand on Eugene's hip, tugged him in. Eugene followed his hand, scooting closer and leaning in, until they were pressed close from hip to shoulder, legs loosely tangling. Merriell breathed deeply, slowly, looking at his hand where it pressed against Eugene's body. "Can't say you wouldn't have a better life if we stayed apart."   
"Do you really believe that?"   
Merriell thought for a moment, pressed his thumb contemplatively against the bone of Eugene's hip, heard his breath catch. He grinned. "Guess I don't know, really." He ran his hand up along his side and back down, feeling the bump of his ribs, the softer warmth of his waist. "Can't say I deserve this."  
"Don't be an idiot." Eugene's voice was a little distracted. God, to finally get his hands on him. Merriell ran a finger along the line of his clavicle, dragged a thumb up the length of his throat. He settled his palm along the side of his neck, felt the blood beating beneath his hand, looked up at him. He had that new look in his eyes again, banked fire ready to catch. He wasn't smiling, but the line of his mouth was soft.   
"I'm not a good man, Eugene," he said, forcing himself to say each word clear and slow. "I'm the same person I was over there, none of that's changed."  
"'Good'," Eugene repeated the word with a dismissive scoff. Merriell felt his spine tense, fear creeping in. Eugene was good, pure and good in a way Merriell had never been, and if he couldn't see that, couldn't see why it mattered, then -   
Maybe his hand tightened, maybe his eyes changed, either way Eugene noticed, he always fucking noticed. He dipped his head like he was trying to catch Merriell's attention, except Merriell had never looked away in the first place. "Hey." Voice firm, pulling him back. "You're good to me. Let's just start there." His words warmed Merriell right up. _Merde_ , the boy was making him soft. Eugene reached up and pulled Merriell's hand off his neck. But he didn't let go, instead pulling it down to his lap, holding it in both of his. Merriell stared at Eugene's hands, thinking about everything they'd done. Steady and sure as he hung a mortar shell, near shaking with feeling as he clutched a knife, deliberate and thoughtful as he set pencil to paper. Now here they were, holding his own ugly, work-scarred hand like it was something fragile, important. "I think I'm going to enroll in college," Eugene said, running long, careful fingers along Merriell's palm.  
Merriell blinked, surprised. "Yeah?"  
"I was thinking botany. There's just something about it, I dunno." Eugene glanced up at him, gave him a smile so youthful and open that it made Merriell's hand twitch in his grasp.  
He cleared his throat, overwhelmed. They were sitting so close, all twined together, talking about goddamn plants. "You like it, you should do it. Not worth doing if you ain't got a passion for it, right?"  
"Right," Eugene agreed. He mouth pulled back, a little sly, a little shy. "New Orleans has a couple good universities. I was thinking I should get down there, sooner rather than later. See which one's the best fit."   
The words didn't make sense for a moment but once they did Merriell yanked his hand free with a muttered curse, lurched to his feet. "Unbelievable," he said with a humorless laugh, near outraged at being read so well, so easily.   
Eugene only looked startled for a moment before his eyes narrowed, mouth set tight. "What's the problem," he asked, but it was clear he already knew.  
"You," Merriell said, lips stiff with anger, "are not leaving all this to live in some shit-hole with me in New Orleans." He turned away, raised a fitful hand to his hair, lowered it and wrapped it tight around his chest instead.   
"So what was your plan?" Eugene's voice was vibrating now, he never could control its shaking when his blood got up. "Live here in Mobile? You don't even like it here. We couldn't live together here, too many people know me." Merriell turned and glared at him, and Eugene's mouth turned down as he put it together. "I see. I'm supposed to keep on living with my folks and you'll just be around, is that right? And maybe a couple of times a week we'll get together, just two war buddies catching up, that way no one gets too suspicious, and that's supposed to be enough." He climbed wearily to his feet. "No. I'm not living like that, Snafu."  
_No_. Merriell couldn't breathe. _Non, ne dis pas ça, pas maintenant._ It felt like someone was pulling his rib cage open. "You said I." His voice cracked, a sound like dead twigs underfoot. He tried again. "You said it was worth it."  
Eugene looked hard at him. "Jesus Christ, Snafu," he snapped, pacing up to him, grabbing his arm. "I'm not saying - " He stopped, closing his eyes and breathing out forcefully through his nose. "I wasn't saying I didn't want this," he said, voice somehow soothing and irritated at the same time. "I'm just saying that we deserve more than that kind of life." He drew Merriell in by his arm, until they were standing close together.   
"This is your home, Eugene," Merriell said, trying to hold onto his anger through the flood of relief that he was drowning in. "You're not thinking straight."  
"I can choose where I want my home to be," Eugene answered, quick and confident. "You like it in New Orleans. Why's it so crazy to think we should live somewhere that you could be happy?" Merriell scoffed and looked away, but couldn't bring himself to pull back again from Eugene's sweet nearness. "Mer." He startled at that, then all but jumped out of his skin when he felt Eugene's hand on his jaw, a soft command, turning him back to face him. He looked angry, fed-up, but his voice when he spoke was soft and low. "Let's get one thing settled now, because I want it clear in that thick head of yours. It's not gonna be like it was before, you always doing for me with no care for yourself, like you're nothing. It's just not happening, you got that?"  
Why was it so damn hot, Eugene bossing him around in that quiet little voice? Merriell reached up and buried his fingers in Eugene's hair, pulled him in, close enough to feel his breath shiver out and ghost along his cheek. "Won't you miss all this," he murmured, body tight with anticipation. "Rambling around, looking at bushes and shit?" He felt Eugene's hands settle, uncertain, on his sides.  
"Sure," he answered, voice shaky again, a shake that worked its way right through Merriell, wound him up even more. "And when I feel like getting out of the city for a day, I expect you to come along nice and quiet and not make a fuss about it."  
Merriell grinned, used his grip on Eugene's hair to tilt his head the way he wanted, and kissed him, hard and quick, and then slow, dragging it out, sliding his lips along Eugene's. Fuck, he was good, long lips pliant, breath catching ragged in his throat. His hands spasmed on Merriell's waist and Merriell bit back a groan, forced himself to ease back. "Alright," he said, smug, happy. "Don't you worry darling, I'll take care of you."   
Eugene snorted. "Haven't you been listening?" His hands tightened on Merriell, shifting him in, their bodies brushing. "Merriell. I'm going to take care of you."

_"That was Sid. He and the boys are coming down to visit."_  
_"'Visit'," Merriell repeated mockingly. "Is that what it's called when you hang around someone's house waiting on them to die?" Eugene flinched, and Merriell refused to feel guilty about it. The idiot still wouldn't admit it, kept skirting around it. He was relieved, though, that Phillips was on his way. Someone needed to be here to look after him when it was time. Eugene was still hovering in the doorway, like he didn't know if he was allowed in his own damn room or not. Merriell grunted and reached a hand out, and Eugene came to him, took it in one of his own. It was too tiring, being cruel, being kind. He pulled weakly and Eugene settled on the side of the bed. "Just sit with me," he grumbled, closing his eyes._  
_Gentle fingers in his hair, gentle voice. "Alright, Mer."_


	4. Make your good love known to me or just tell me 'bout your day

_Eugene sat in the chair beside the bed and watched Snafu sleep. He slept most of the time now, only waking up briefly before slipping away again. He was still lucid for the most part when he was awake, and maybe that was why Eugene found himself always hovering nearby, afraid to be away from him, afraid of missing a chance to speak to him. Maybe that was why he hesitated so long when he heard the knock at the door, not wanting to leave his side, even though he knew who was at the door, even as he felt the relief of knowing he wasn't alone, wasn't going to have to face it alone._  
_The knock came again, and he got up with a heavy sigh, feeling his years and then some, worn down and heartsick. He hesitated at the doorway, looking back at Snafu, then forced himself on, making his way down their narrow hallway and to the front door. He opened it and put on a weary smile, stepping back to let Sid and his two sons in. The boys, grown men now, greeted him soberly, hugged him and called him 'Uncle Eugene' like they always had, glancing down the hall towards the bedroom. Eugene motioned them on. "It's alright, go on and see him. He's sleeping." He waited until they had started down the hall before turning to look at Sid. He tried to smile, felt it tremble and fall away._  
_Sid stepped up to him, placed a firm hand on his arm. "How're you holding up?" He asked, still sharp eyed, still looking out for him after all these years._  
_"Don't know that I am," Eugene answered. "Just trying to make the most of what I've got." Sid nodded, turning slightly to close the open door, shutting out the wet summer heat._  
_"I know you are," he said. "I sometimes think there isn't anyone in this damn world who worked harder to make the most of what they had than the two of you."_  
  
"New Orleans?" His father said, as if he'd never heard the words before. His left eyebrow was nearly at his hairline.   
"Tulane, if I can get in," Eugene said quickly, trying to put off the inevitable questions. "But Loyola would also suit if I don't. They both offer degrees in biology. That's what I'm interested in studying."  
They had just finished dinner. Rose had come in to clear the dishes away, and Eugene had glanced at Snafu, knowing he would understand his meaning, had been waiting on a signal. Sure enough, Snafu stood up a moment later muttering something about needing to smoke, and ducked out of the room half-hunched like he was dodging bullets. It would have been almost amusing, if the situation were different. As it was, Eugene wished he could escape out the back door along with him. But there was nothing to gain and plenty to lose by putting the conversation off, so Eugene had steeled himself and told his parents his plan.  
"Biology." His mother said. "You mean, in preparation for medical school?"   
"No Mother. What I'm most interested in is botany. Plants," he clarified, at her confused frown. He wasn't surprised that she assumed he was thinking of going into medicine. After all, his father was a doctor, and Sid, whom he had always idolized and followed after, was studying with that goal in mind. It was an idea that had appealed to him, before the war. Now, the thought of studying the human body left him cold, pulled up memories. Hillbilly on the stretcher, blood bursting from his chest as he was hit, as they tried to carry him to safety. Badly burned bodies, charred away to nothing but flaking black flesh over bones, in his line of sight no matter which way he turned. Holding his hands over Hayden's gaping stomach, entrails warm and slick, slipping out past his fingers. The truth about what they all were, given enough time; food for maggots. Eugene felt his breath coming faster, squeezed his eyes shut, thought of a white flower, petals delicate and long, simple and perfect. He thought of the cherrybark oak, caught halfway between its summer and fall foliage, dropping the occasional leaf on himself and Snafu as they stood together beneath it.   
Heart slowing, breath coming more easily, he opened his eyes. His mother had half risen from her seat, stopped by his father's hand on her arm. When Eugene met her gaze, she sat back down slowly, eyes wide with concern. His father watched him carefully, nodded to him when Eugene looked his way. "Plants," Eugene croaked, trying to pick up the threads of their conversation.  
"Well," his mother said, regaining her own composure, "I'm glad you've taken an interest in something, at least. What does one do with a degree in biology?" She continued on, saving Eugene from having to try and come up with an answer. "But this is all quite sudden, Eugene. And New Orleans, of all places?" Her eyes flicked towards where Snafu had been sitting, and then away.  
"Surely you can't disapprove Mother," Eugene said dryly. "After all, both universities were included in that pile of applications you left in my room."   
"A pile, really Eugene, no need to be dramatic."  
"It is quite the coincidence, son," his father said gently. "This decision to go to school in New Orleans, coming just two days after Mr. Shelton arrived from there."  
"It isn't a coincidence at all," Eugene said firmly, voice steady, even as his stomach rose up in his chest, as he gripped his hands on his knees to keep them from trembling. He was determined to lie as little as possible. "Snafu's a good friend, I hope I've made that clear. I want to go somewhere else for college, somewhere besides Mobile." He saw how that hurt his mother and puzzled his father, pressed on regardless. "If I go to New Orleans, I'll have someone there I know, someone who knows me, someone who knows - " He broke off, unsure how to finish. His father inclined his head in understanding.   
"Well. It's a solid enough plan. More importantly, you seem quite sure of your decision, and your mother and I trust that you've given this due thought." That last part was a lie, but one Eugene knew his father told in an attempt to reassure all three of them. "When would you leave?"  
"Soon," Eugene answered. "The sooner the better, if I'm going to have any chance of starting classes in the spring. I figure a week would give me plenty of time to get my things in order, say goodbye to people."  
"A week?" His mother cried, distressed. "Why, that's far too sudden. Your birthday is less than a month away and I was looking forward to having you here at home to celebrate it properly. No, it just won't do." She said it with finality, lips set. Eugene felt his irritation spike.  
"I'm a grown man, Mother, and I certainly don't think it's - "  
"Now you two," his father said, placating. "There's a compromise to be found here, if we can speak civilly to each other long enough to reach it. Mary, the boy will need time to settle in down there. However, Eugene, if you can wait until after your birthday, that would give your mother time to arrange a proper send off for you."  
"Father, I really think I'll need that time to insure my application - "  
"Dr. Danforth went to Tulane, you know. He's still very much involved as an alumnus and was always fond of you, Eugene. I'll speak with him tomorrow. I'm sure he can get your application moved to the top of the pile." He raised a hand as Eugene started to protest. "No special treatment, you'll get in on your own merit, as it should be. This is just to ensure your application gets looked at quickly. You'll still start classes in the spring, and we'll all be able to celebrate the occasion together before you head out." He smiled between Eugene and his mother. "Now, what do you say?"  
"Oh Edward," Eugene's mother said, touching his arm affectionately. "What a perfect solution." She turned shining eyes on Eugene, and he bit back the protests rising up in his throat. None of them would make any sense to them anyhow. Instead, he smiled weakly back at them, and nodded his agreement.  
Snafu was waiting for him in his room by the time Eugene managed to excuse himself and make his escape. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking through Eugene's journal. He looked oddly right there, surrounded by the accumulated objects of Eugene's childhood, more at ease than he seemed to be in any other room of the house. He glanced up at Eugene, then over his shoulder at the open door. Eugene closed it and crossed the room to him.   
"You must've been really bored, to start looking through that," he said with a self-conscious laugh. He started to sit down on the bed but thought better of it, pulling his chair up and sitting in it instead. Snafu grunted and tossed the journal aside. He leaned back on his hands, tipped his chin up.  
"How'd it go?"  
"It could have been a lot worse," Eugene answered with a sigh. He scrubbed his hands along his face, fought back the fatigue and apprehension. "Could have been better." Snafu didn't say anything and he went on, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. "They were surprised, but supportive enough. They didn't ask too many questions about," he paused for a moment, oddly embarrassed, "about us. Nothing worrisome, at least." He looked up at Snafu, met his unblinking gaze. "They want me to wait until after my birthday, want to have a party for me before I leave."  
"A birthday party." Snafu said it slowly, a little disbelieving. He chuckled derisively. "Christ. Your mama going to make you wear one of them hats? Gonna play games?"  
"No hats," Eugene answered wryly. "Wish I could say the same about the party games."  
"Your birthday's near a month away."  
He really shouldn't be surprised at this point that Snafu remembered his birthday, but he was. He never bothered to bring it up when they were overseas, but his mother did always send him an overly sentimental letter to mark the day. He should have known Snafu was paying attention. "Three weeks, yeah," he said, looking away. It wasn't what they had talked about.  
"Can't stay here for three weeks," Snafu said bluntly. "People would notice, start talking." That was true enough, but they both knew it wasn't the real reason. Snafu was on edge here, unable to settle. Something about the quiet, the stillness, got under his skin and had him eyeing the exits. He had relaxed some when they had gone into town together, but his discomfort had never completely gone away. He bridled the few times Eugene had alluded to it though, was in fact bridling now, as if he could tell what Eugene was thinking.   
"I know," Eugene said simply. "I don't think you should stay." It came out wrong and he grimaced, raised a hand. "I mean, I think we need to rethink things."  
"'Rethink,'" Snafu repeated, dull. His eyes had gone opaque again, guarding himself.   
"Don't," Eugene said, moving from the chair to the bed, pushing Snafu's knee to get him to unfold and make room for him. "How many more times do I gotta say it, you idiot?" He felt it again between them, how fragile they still were, how easily it could fall apart if he didn't get it right, make it count. Snafu was staring at him, eyes consuming and empty. "When's your birthday?" Eugene asked, and Snafu blinked slowly.  
"In a while," he said, cagey, like it was some sort of trap.  
"Snafu," Eugene said patiently, holding his gaze. Snafu rolled his eyes, his head falling back.   
"January." He pulled away from Eugene and stretched out on the bed, head against the foot board and feet propped up on Eugene's pillow. Trying to distract, annoy. Eugene wondered if Snafu knew how distracting he really was, laid out on his bed, dark curls mussed, the line of his body a provocation.   
"Not too far away," he murmured, shifting beside him, over him. Snafu watched him, amused, a little surprised. Eugene planted one hand by his shoulder and the other against the foot board, leaned in, kissed him lightly, lingeringly. Black coffee and cigarettes, bitter, perfect. He felt Snafu go preternaturally still, felt his lips part and soften. They didn't touch anywhere else, but Eugene's entire body tingled with the feeling. It was overwhelming, to be so lost in someone else, to know they were lost in it too. Eugene ended the kiss, pulled back. "We'll have to think of something to do. Make it special."  
Snafu licked his lips, eyes heavy-lidded. "Gene," he said, dark, smoky promise. Eugene wanted to lean down again, but got up instead and moved back to the chair, leery of his parents down the hall. Snafu didn't change his position, simply rolling his head to the side to watch him. "So," he drawled, "tell me what you've been 'rethinking.'"   
They talked, always a difficult past time with Snafu, who seemed to treat serious conversations as either a high noon duel or some sort of dance where he made up all the steps. It exhausted Eugene, but it was worth it to come out the other side with some sort of an understanding. Snafu would head back to New Orleans, start looking for a job and a place for them to live. Eugene would stay in Mobile and join him after his parents' party. It was practical, Eugene was sure it was the smart move, but that didn't make the idea of being apart from Snafu feel any less wrong. They had fallen back into step with each other so naturally, and then so quickly stepped together into this, this new honesty, this chance. Scarcely a day had passed since Eugene had let himself say the words that had been building and pressing up in his throat, since Snafu had threaded his hands through his hair and kissed him. To pull apart now was wrong, unnatural. Impossible.  
Impossible or not, Eugene found himself standing at the station two days later, waiting for the train. Snafu was silent beside him, withdrawn, tightly coiled. Words between them had been drying up and falling away unspoken as they got closer to this moment. There was a brittle quality to Snafu now, and Eugene had the aching feeling that it was his fault. He hadn't said enough, or hadn't said the right thing, had said something wrong, hell if he knew. All he knew was that Snafu didn't trust him, didn't trust that he would really be joining him in New Orleans. Snafu hadn't said it, but Eugene knew. It was in the way he watched him and didn't speak. It was in the way he had gradually stopped touching him when they were alone. Eugene had been feeling increasingly frozen with indecision, wanting to reach out, afraid to make it worse. And now he could hear the train whistling in the distance, and now Snafu was glancing down the tracks, eyes gray and distant, and there was a churning mess of guilt and longing in Eugene's stomach. He reached out, grabbed Snafu's wrist.  
Snafu reacted instantly, twisting out of Eugene's grip, eyes flicking left and right before turning and glaring at Eugene, face hard. Eugene simply grabbed his pack and gestured for him to follow before turning and heading for the back of the ticket booth. The station wasn't very crowded, and the people who were there were busy saying their own goodbyes. Snafu came around the corner and shoved his way into Eugene's space, sneer in place, ready to lay into him. Eugene knew he deserved it, but they didn't have the time, so he spoke low and quick before Snafu could get started.  
"I love you." Snafu's mouth snapped shut, jaw tight. His eyes bored into Eugene. "I love you, and I want you, and I'm going to be in New Orleans on the fifth, so you had better be at the station waiting for me." He suddenly didn't know why he had been wasting his time saying any other words, when these were the ones he'd really been wanting to say. Wasn't this what he had realized, that day he had decided he was going after Snafu, not knowing the man had beaten him to it? What he felt for Snafu, all this love. God he wanted to touch him, it wasn't right that he couldn't touch him. He settled for holding Snafu's gaze, trusting that he would see it, believe in it. Snafu's mouth worked, like he was chewing words instead of speaking them. His eyes lightened as Eugene watched, let in some blue.   
"I'll be there," he muttered, stepping back. "Have to be. You'd be too pathetic, wandering around lost without me." Eugene huffed a laugh, and shoved Snafu's pack at him. They returned to their spot on the platform as the train pulled in, and Eugene knew nothing was fixed, words paltry, the least of what he needed to show Snafu what he felt. But Snafu looked at him with a quirked brow and a half-smile, and Eugene couldn't help but feel hopeful.   
The train ground to a halt and people started to move around them, arriving, leaving. Eugene turned to face Snafu, did his best to keep his voice light and even. "See you in three weeks."  
"Eugene," Snafu said, stark, a pronouncement. " _Mon coeur_." His eyes were wide, intent, a little unhinged around the edges. Eugene frowned but couldn't speak, the moment too fraught and heavy for him to do anything but stare back. Then Snafu snapped his eyes to the side, turning away and shouldering his pack in one long lurching movement. Eugene watched him walk away, watched him get on the train and disappear from sight. He didn't move until the train had pulled off and vanished down the line. He walked slowly back to his father's car, trying to parse through the riot of thoughts in his head.   
The days dragged slowly, his idleness irritating now that he had a purpose to look forward to. He spent the first day in his room, sifting through his possessions, trying to decide what he would take with him and what he would leave behind. He was shocked by how short a time it took, by how little he owned that was of actual value to him. His pipe, his journal, his bible. Clothes and some other simple necessities, it all fit neatly into one large suitcase.  
His mother and father didn't try to talk him out of his decision, but they did ask more gently probing questions about Snafu once the man was gone. It surprised Eugene, the amount of questions he was unable to answer, either because he didn't know, Snafu not having shared much about his past, or because he couldn't bring himself to talk about the war and their time together over there. He continued his long walks, avoiding his parent's questions and soaking in the quiet and solitude while he had it. Nights were still restless affairs, spent jumping at shadows or being awoken from a nightmare by his own voice, crying out. He wondered if that would change, once he and Snafu were together, sleeping in the same bed. He flushed hot at the thought of it, at the thought of all the different things they might soon do together. They'd scarcely gotten up to anything so far, Snafu had stuck to Ed's bedroom at night and when they had moments alone they'd mostly just pressed up against each other and necked in between making plans for the future. Thinking about it filled Eugene with equal parts eagerness and dread. The embarrassing truth was that he didn't know a damn thing about what to expect, practically speaking. He got the feeling the same couldn't be said for Snafu, and he didn't know what to feel about that either. He tried not to brood over it, with little success.   
His birthday started off with his mother crying into her morning tea while Eugene and his father made floundering attempts to comfort her. She rallied as the extra help began to arrive at the house, directing them tearfully at first, and then with increasing enthusiasm as the morning went on. Eugene and his father both retreated gratefully, his father to his study, and Eugene to his room, where he checked and rechecked his suitcase. His train ticket sat alone on his neatly tidied desk; Eugene kept crossing over to touch it, look at the time, assure himself. Tomorrow morning he would be on his way. He was ready, restive, and not just because he was eager to see Snafu. He wanted to start living again, to try looking forward instead of back.  
Afternoon came and he watched from his window as tables appeared on the lawn, draped with thick white cloth, food and drink laid out in visually pleasing arrays across their surfaces. He thought about longing for water, about how sweet that one warm sip had been crossing his cracked lips. Guests started to arrive, his mother and father greeting them. Eugene put on a freshly pressed suit jacket and tie and thought about sleeping in a filthy poncho, clothing caked with mud, the heavy smell of rot. He thought about the cherrybark oak, and went outside into the mild sunlight.  
It seemed that half the town and most of the family had made it, and he spent the next few hours catching up with cousins and uncles, receiving warm kisses on the cheek from aunts, fielding questions from family friends. There was a cake involved at one point, and people singing and shouting congratulations. He was feeling overwhelmed and considering stepping inside for a moment when he turned around and came face to face with Sid.   
He was startled, and not entirely happy to see him, and was sure it showed on his face. They hadn't spoken since their exchange of words that day in town. It was fairly obvious that Sid had been avoiding him, and Eugene hadn't expected him to show up today, hadn't tried to contact him to invite him. His mother was too thorough for her own good.   
"Hey," he said weakly, rocking back a bit on his heels. Sid just nodded and glanced around quickly before looking back at him. "Glad you made it."  
"Yeah," Sid said. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't stop by to see you off?" His flat tone was a jab keenly felt. Eugene struggled not to show it. "New Orleans, huh? You sure are moving fast."  
Eugene didn't know what to say. He still didn't understand how Sid had figured it out so quickly, that day when he happened across them in town. What had he seen, standing across the street and watching them step out of the cinema, that had him connecting pieces and putting the truth together so unerringly? Eugene wanted to know, he wanted to know if Sid hated him now, if this was the first of many important things that he would have to cut out and leave behind, the first price he would pay for his decision. All the painful questions that had been building up, but he managed to press them down, managed to speak with a steady voice. "You never came by to talk. After."  
Sid's mouth flattened. "You made it pretty clear you wouldn't be moved on it. Didn't see the point."  
"Sid, this don't have to be - "  
"You know Eugene, sometimes you just don't know what's best for yourself." Sid gave him a fierce, pained look, then stepped past him, walking away. Eugene stood stunned for a moment, then forced himself to move, halting, aimless steps that carried him away, he didn't care where. He was vaguely aware of someone saying his name, and then a heavy arm was around his shoulder and his brother was jostling him roughly, affectionately.  
"Where're you wandering off to, you jackass?" He laughed. "Can't escape your own party." He got a good look at Eugene's face, and his smile faded, concern creeping in. "Eugene? What's going on?"  
"Nothing," Eugene said quickly. "Just," he stopped, mind a blank. "Just feeling a little crowded, all of a sudden."  
Ed nodded, understanding, not understanding anything at all. "Alright, come with me," he said, and steered Eugene around to the other side of the house.  
Eugene spent the next hour sitting in the kitchen with Ed, drinking whiskey lifted from their father's liquor cabinet. He didn't have much of a head for drink, and it wasn't long before he was feeling loose, hurt and fear draining away as Ed congratulated him on moving out and made fun of the party guests. God bless Ed, he thought fondly, blearily, as he watched his brother gesture with his glass, trade quips with Tee and Rose. Most days it seemed like they didn't have one damn thing in common except for their blood, but he was a good brother. Eugene hoped he wouldn't lose that too.   
Their mother found them eventually, scolded Ed for letting Eugene drink too much, and shooed them outside to pay their respects to the departing guests. It was all a bit of a blur, but Eugene was sober enough to get through it without embarrassing himself or his mother. He left her still chatting with the last of the guests, returning to the house as the servants started to make their way out, beginning the work of cleaning up the remains of the party. He neared the front door just as it swung open and his father and Sid stepped out. They both looked at him, his father concerned, Sid slightly guilty, and Eugene knew. His heart dropped, hardened.   
"Just doing what's best?" He said to Sid, amazed at the evenness of his own voice. It was incredible, the anger and terror coursing through him.  
"Yes," Sid said, firm, secure in his conviction. "I hope you'll see that." He nodded to Eugene's father and walked away without another word. Eugene stared after him, felt the burn of angry tears.   
"Eugene," his father said. "Son. Come inside, we should talk." Eugene closed his eyes, took a slow, deep breath. He saw a woman holding her baby out to him, pleading, hopeless love. He saw a blue bird, barely caught from the corner of his eye, eluding definition. He turned and followed his father into the house, into his study. He sat down without prompting and his father closed the doors and sat down across from him.  
"I've decided, Father," he said before his father could start. "I don't expect you to approve, but I'm leaving tomorrow and you won't change my mind on it."  
"Eugene," his father said, and then stopped. He didn't know what to say, Eugene realized. He tried again. "Despite what you may think, I don't believe that what you're experiencing is - that is to say, there have been several fascinating articles written quite recently addressing the subject of - " he broke off, mouth opening and closing silently for a moment, then went on. "But none of that matters at this moment. What concerns me most is your happiness, and your safety. Sid tells me he tried briefly to talk to you about the dangers you could face if you continue down this road. Now, I don't know what this Shelton has said to you about - "  
"Stop," Eugene said sharply. His father fell silent and Eugene stood, walked restlessly around the room while his father watched him with something like fear in his eyes, like Eugene was a different person to him now, capable of anything. That hurt, worse than anything that Sid had said or done. Eugene stopped, turned to face his father. "Do you think I came back with my soul intact?" His father blinked at him, confused. "Did I come back empty-eyed, no life, no spark?" He saw the moment his father remembered, it seemed a lifetime ago that they'd had that conversation, here in this very room.  
"No, son," his father said after a moment. Gentle and honest. Hopeless love.  
"I could have," Eugene said harshly. "The things I did over there. The things I felt. I could have come back like that. You know why I didn't?" He could see his father recoiling, not wanting to hear anymore, but he pushed on regardless, his voice was starting to shake apart and he had to get it out. "Because he didn't let it happen. Whatever it is that you see in me, he saw it too, and he made sure I kept it." His father had turned his face away, and Eugene felt the foundations of his world cracking, on the verge of collapse. He clamped his hands against his thighs to stop their trembling, but couldn't do much to stop the trembling in the rest of his body. "And - " Here he faltered, less sure of himself. "And I see it in him, Father. And I'm going to care for it."   
His father sat without moving for a long time, so long that Eugene thought about leaving, thought maybe his silence and turned away face was his answer. But then he stood, slowly, like an old man, and walked over to Eugene. He stared at him a moment, his eyes clouded and uncertain, and then he reached out hesitatingly, and Eugene folded up and near collapsed against him, his father, the best man he knew. A strong foundation.  
The next day Eugene sat on the train and pressed his fingers against his eyes, his temples. His nerves were shot and he was exhausted and wrung out from the events of the previous day. He hadn't slept, just sat at his desk and watched out the window, waiting out the night. His parents had driven him to the station that morning, stayed with him until the train arrived and he boarded. His father had been quiet, withdrawn, his mother suspicious and worried. They hadn't talked much the night before, after Eugene collected himself and sat back down, but his father had told Eugene frankly that he wasn't sure what he was going to tell his mother, what he would keep back. Nothing was settled between them, Eugene thought it was probably foolish wishing on his part to hope that anything could ever really be settled. But his father still looked at him in the same way he always had, had told him to write home often, and that was enough.   
He supposed he should be thanking Sid. In the end, it just meant there was one less person Eugene had to hide the truth from. But the thought just left him bitter. The sour truth was that Sid had betrayed him, and Eugene didn't know how to feel about it other than hurt.   
When it was announced that they were entering New Orleans, he forced himself to stop wallowing and pay attention, leaning against the window and looking out. It was his new home, after all. The thought made him feel a little lighter, and he started scanning the faces of the people he passed as the train went along. Maybe that was how he managed to pick Snafu out of the crowd almost immediately, as the train pulled into the station and slowed to a halt. He was standing along the wall of the station building, arms crossed behind his head, hand tapping idly against his own neck. A stance like that should project ease, and maybe it did to the folk around who didn't know any better, but Eugene saw it for the nervous gesture that it was. It damn near made him grin, and he pushed it down and stood to grab his suitcase.   
Snafu saw him as soon as he stepped off the train, dropping his arms to his sides and moving to meet him. Eugene couldn't help it, he smiled at him, dumb with happiness, and Snafu grinned back, then looked down and away, sharp-jawed and boyish. "Happy fucking birthday," he said, a gruff drawl. "Got you a present."  
"Yeah?" Eugene said, dry and fond. He knew when Snafu was winding him up.  
"It's called a furnished apartment. You're paying the deposit, rich boy." He gestured over his shoulder with a tilt of his head. "Let's go."  
They got on a streetcar and rode for a bit, Eugene had no idea where they were going and Snafu didn't bother to tell him, instead tipping his head back against his seat and propping his feet up on Eugene's suitcase, watching him through half-closed eyes. Eugene ignored him, observing the people on the streetcar. The conversation was lively and in multiple languages, and the English he heard was spoken with a unique lilt, similar to Snafu's, but distinct in a way that Eugene had trouble pinpointing. Eventually Snafu grunted and stood up, and they got off and started walking through a residential area, quieter than Eugene expected, the streets dotted with big trees. The houses were older, mismatched, but neat and well kept. "Ain't much of walk from here to your fancy school," Snafu said.   
"Where was your old place? Nearby?" Snafu snorted.  
"You hear any horns blaring? We're uptown now."   
"How much is the rent?" Snafu just shrugged, and Eugene took that to mean it was substantially more than he'd had to pay before. It was touching and irritating in equal measure, that Snafu had looked for an apartment with what he imagined Eugene wanted in mind, that he thought the sort of place where he'd lived before wasn't good enough. Eugene wanted to take him by the back of the neck and shake him, kiss him. He decided to look for a job once he'd settled in a bit, something he could work on the weekends to help bring in some cash. He was sure Snafu would have something to say about it, but that was a fight for another day.   
Snafu stopped in front of a house, two-story, off-white, bisected by a set of steps that led up to the second level. "Old lady lives on the first floor, we're upstairs." He fished around in his pocket, extracted a key and handed it to Eugene. "Here ya go."  
The apartment was clean and sparsely furnished. The only sign of Snafu was the chipped mug he had been using as an ashtray, sitting alone on the kitchen table. Snafu led him to the little hall in the back, gestured to the three open doors. "Bathroom, my room, your room." He tipped his chin and stared at Eugene, smile just a twist to his lips, eyes a question. Eugene stared back at him, then closed the door to his room with deliberate care. He walked into Snafu's room, their room, and set his suitcase on the floor at the foot of the brass bed. The blanket on the bed was rumpled. Snafu's sea bag was propped up in the corner of the room. He turned and looked back at Snafu, still standing in the doorway, smirking. His eyes were big and silvery, his shirt wrinkled. He was barefoot, having kicked off his shoes first thing after they entered the apartment. They were alone.   
The rush of need that Eugene felt was staggering, heady. "Come here," he said, half lifting a hand. Snafu's smile grew impossibly more self-satisfied, and he pushed off the doorway with his shoulder and padded over to him. Eugene pulled him in, wrapped his arms around his waist. They were nearly the same height, which meant Eugene barely had to bend his head to tuck his face perfectly against the side of Snafu's neck. He breathed him in, heat and cigarettes and his own unique smell beneath the rest, the same as it always was. Snafu wrapped one arm around his back and stroked the other up his neck, into his hair. Something about the gesture, sure and loving, broke Eugene, and he managed to clumsily kiss the juncture between Snafu's neck and shoulder before pressing his face down against the spot and weeping. His hands fisted on the back of Snafu's shirt, he clutched him to him. Snafu muttered something unintelligible against his ear and pressed his arm more firmly against his back, cradled the back of his head.   
It was embarrassing, made more so because he didn't even know why it was happening. Maybe it was everything. Disappointment and relief, hurt like a bruise, like a bleeding wound, the price he was paying and would continue to pay. It was all mixed up, the war and its horrors, his separation from Sid and his family, the endless swell of love he felt for Snafu. Eugene didn't even realize Snafu had been maneuvering them towards the bed until his legs hit the back of it, until he half fell backwards onto it, Snafu following him down. Snafu shifted them both and Eugene let him, until he was laying on his back with Snafu on top of him, his weight a comfort against his chest, his hips. Eugene turned his head to the side and pressed his eyes against his arm, focused on calming his ragged breathing. He felt drained, worn out from lack of sleep and all the damn tears. He braced himself and looked back at Snafu.  
He was watching him intently, eyes wide and concerned, an expression that Eugene had only rarely seen before. He remembered Snafu watching him with that same careful gaze after Leyden got hit, the day that he'd gotten the letter about Deacon. "That's twice in the same number of days," he admitted with a weak chuckle, shifting his shoulders nervously, looking away and back again. Snafu didn't say anything, just kept watching him. _Tell me_. "Later," Eugene said in answer. "Not now." Snafu shifted, adjusting himself so that he was partially braced on one arm, his other hand free to drift along the side of Eugene's face.  
"You look terrible, Sledgehammer," he murmured, grinning when Eugene scowled. "Should get some rest. I'll cook you something."   
"Can you even cook?" Eugene asked. "No," he went on, before Snafu could answer. "Stay with me." He wrapped his arms around his neck, his back. Snafu's smile turned smug again.   
"Missed me, darling?" He leaned down and nipped at Eugene's ear. Eugene bit back on a sharp breath.  
"Yes," he said, too tired to bandy words. He used his hips and his arms to roll Snafu over so that they were laying side by side. He pressed close, nosed in until he found the spot he wanted along the side of Snafu's neck. It was unbelievably arousing, to have Snafu this close, their bodies lined up from shoulder to thigh. But even that couldn't compete with the lassitude he felt stealing over him, weighing his limbs down. Snafu had one arm thrown over his shoulder, and he was rubbing his thumb along the back of Eugene's neck, lazy and soothing. Eugene closed his eyes and fell down into his smell, his touch.  
Later, he didn't know how long, he woke up to that same touch. They had moved some while they slept, or while Eugene had slept at least, and Snafu was now laying on his back with Eugene half sprawled against him. His hand was tracing a meandering path along Eugene's back, neck, shoulders. Eugene held himself still, thoughts creeping back to Peleliu, Okinawa. They hardly ever had the opportunity to sleep at the same time in those days, and when they did it was back to back, spines pressed tight together. It was strange, to compare that desperate closeness with this, boneless and easy, time spooling loose around them like a gift. There was still a little bit of desperation in there, he supposed, as he edged up, turned his face towards Snafu's waiting mouth.   
It was slow at first, torpid and soft, and then it wasn't. Snafu grew more insistent, his hands settling on the back of Eugene's neck and along his jaw, turning him the way he wanted, controlling the kiss. Soon even that purposefulness fell away and they were both open-mouthed and panting, hands moving over each other frantically, struggling to pull closer, closer. Eugene sat up, near wrenched Snafu up after him, started tugging on his shirt. Snafu pulled away from Eugene's mouth long enough to help him get it off, then attached lips and teeth to the underside of Eugene's jaw, groaning into his skin. Eugene ran his hands over hot, smooth flesh, and then started undoing the buttons of his own shirt with clumsy fingers. Snafu worked his way up beneath his shirt, then down, started unbuckling his pants. By the time Eugene managed to get his shirt unbuttoned and was shrugging it off, Snafu had undone his pants, had wormed his hand in and grabbed him. Eugene moaned and fell forward, his shirt caught awkwardly around his shoulders, leaning against Snafu as he worked him, just the right amount of rough. It was all too much, the feel of Snafu's warm skin against his, the heat of his mouth as he planted wet, open kisses along Eugene's shoulder, teeth digging in here and there unexpectedly, the steady pace he was setting with his hand, drawing shuddering gasps from Eugene with each stroke. He suddenly reached up with his free hand, grabbing Eugene by his tangled up shirt and pulling him back enough to kiss him, hard, bruising.  
"Missed you," he muttered, low, almost harsh. His hand quickened and Eugene's hips started to twitch in his grasp as the sensation built. Snafu dragged his tongue down the length of his neck, mouthed along his collarbone. "Want you," he said against his skin, words nearly lost. "Been wanting you for years, fuck." His voice, his mouth, his hands. Eugene's hips snapped forward and he came with a choked cry, his grip on Snafu's shoulders the only thing holding him upright. Snafu darted up and kissed him, swallowing the gasps and small moans he made as he rode it out, grinding against Snafu's hand. Snafu let go of him long enough to struggle out of his pants, and then impatiently pulled Eugene's shirt and pants the rest of the way off. He lay back, pulling Eugene down on top of him, and they both groaned at the feel of it, skin against skin. Then Snafu was humping up, breathing hard against Eugene's mouth, his hands roving, gripping, restless. Eugene pulled back, traced a hand down his side, felt him still at his touch, felt love like a coiled up living thing in his chest; it was unwinding, pulling free.   
He followed the lines of Snafu's body, mapping muscle and bone beneath his hand, hesitating as he neared his cock, intensely aware of his inexperience. He leaned down, licked into Snafu's mouth, felt him moan low in the back of his throat. "Merriell," he murmured against his lips. "I want - " He stopped, unsure what to say. Snafu reached down and took his hand, guided him to it. He bit back on another groan when Eugene wrapped inept hands around him, his jaw jutting out, sharp with tension. Eugene kissed it gently and drew back a bit, needing to watch his face, suddenly hungry to know his expressions. He didn't know what he was doing, but he observed Snafu carefully, tracked his breathing and his movements, and soon enough he'd worked up a rhythm that had Snafu writhing slow and perfect beneath him. Snafu watched him through half-closed eyes, one hand fisted in the bedding beside him, the other gripping Eugene's side. God, he was beautiful, Eugene could scarcely believe all the incongruities that added up to make him just as he was, as he should be. Mean, all rough edges, but pliable and responsive beneath him. Fighting against his own pleasure, tight-jawed, white-knuckled, all while his hips undulated in time to Eugene's hand and his eyes hazed over. "Mer," he said, overcome. _It's you, I see you_. He trusted Snafu would understand.  
The motion of Snafu's hips started to go erratic. " _Merde_ , Gene," he bit out, and turned his head to the side, his neck an invitation, a plea. Eugene leaned in and bit him there, sucked hard against his skin. Snafu cursed hoarsely, hips stuttering, body arching up. Eugene kissed gently along his neck, working him leisurely through it, not stopping until he collapsed fully back onto the bed, limbs slack. Snafu lay still for a moment, then turned his head and looked at him.  
"How the fuck are you so good at this?" He said, a little accusatory. Eugene felt himself start to flush, and Snafu grinned, big and delighted.  
"It was." Eugene cleared his throat, embarrassed. "It was alright?" Snafu rolled his eyes.  
"What the hell do you think?" He said, and rolled over, kissing Eugene with firm, smiling lips. He pulled away and grabbed his shirt off the floor, used it to swipe carelessly at the mess they'd made. "I'm starving," he announced, standing up and pulling on his pants. He turned back around and tugged on Eugene's ankle. "C'mon, Sledge. I can't cook like my mama, but I know a few tricks."  
Eugene stood in the kitchen and drank a glass of water while Snafu smoked and cooked up pork chops smothered in gravy. Eugene told him briefly about what had happened with Sid and his father, keeping the story as spare as possible, and Snafu listened and didn't say anything comforting. The apartment was growing on him already, evening light slanting in through the windows, part of their bed visible through the open door, the smell of dinner and Snafu's slow meandering drawl filling up the space. Snafu had found a job down at the port, and he was describing his new boss and his many incompetencies with his typical colorful disdain. Eugene listened to him complain fondly, felt that same uncoiling in his chest. Snafu was gesturing ungracefully with the wooden spatula in his hand, barefoot and shirtless, hair a riot of dark curls, cigarette stuck out of the corner of his mouth. He was preposterous. He was matchless. Eugene went to stand beside him, wrapped an arm around his waist, still a little uncertain about how to touch him. He kissed his shoulder, his jaw, the side of his mouth. Snafu settled, leaned into him. "I love you," Eugene said. He had to say it.  
Snafu pulled away, dropping the cigarette into his cup and turning around to face him. His eyes roamed Eugene's face, consuming. "Love you," he said, seriously, carefully. " _Mon coeur_."   
"What's that even mean?" Eugene asked, stepping back up to him, pulling him back in. Snafu smirked, far too soft.  
"My heart." He tapped his fingers briefly over his own chest, then pushed against Eugene's, shoving him gently. "Alright, grab a dish. You ain't in Mobile anymore, gotta serve yourself." They stood side by side and heaped their plates, grinning stupidly at nothing, at each other, and sat down at the table to eat.  
It had only taken a few well-placed phone calls on Dr. Danforth's part to ensure that Eugene's application to Tulane was reviewed quickly, and so when Eugene showed up at the admissions office the next day, he was welcomed cordially, sat down and enrolled for classes so quickly and efficiently it left him a little stunned. He walked around the campus afterwards, getting a feel for the place, and then made his way back to the apartment. Snafu had left for work early that morning and wouldn't be back until after dark. Eugene stopped by the local grocery store and picked up some essentials, made hesitant small-talk with the grocer and the people standing in line. He took a circulatory route home, nodding to the people he passed, identifying the trees that he walked under, most of them live oak. When he got home he took the time to write a letter to his parents, letting them know he had arrived and was enrolled in classes. He didn't know how to cook, but figured he could handle ham and beans from a can. He heated them on the stove while night crept in, and when Snafu got home he hauled Eugene into their bedroom and blew him and gave him his first lesson in returning the favor, and they ended up eating burnt beans in bed.   
They settled into a bit of a rhythm. Snafu worked long hard hours and was tired and fractious most days, but Eugene was accustomed to his moods and knew how to weather them, and he was learning new ways to draw him out. Snafu responded like the hedonist he was to his touch and they usually ended their days steady enough. Thanksgiving came and went and Eugene got a letter from home, sincere but stilted, that left him morose. Snafu circled him the next few days, quiet and watchful, until he eventually emerged from it. On weekends they alternated between shutting themselves away in their bedroom and going on day-long rambles through the city. Eugene decided he liked it, the colorful locals, the music, the city itself. Sudden loud noises still startled him, left him gasping for breath and flinching from contact, but Snafu was good at settling him, standing close and not touching him, calling him back with low assurances.   
He was good at handling his nightmares too, which Eugene discovered did not go away or lessen from being near Snafu. But Snafu always woke him with a firm "Sledgehammer," stroked his arm and his face with gentle hands, and Eugene found that he went back to sleep easily, was less disoriented the next day. Snafu never said anything about it, but Eugene felt ashamed over how often he woke him with his nightmares, felt roiling guilt over how little use he was to Snafu whenever he had his own. And he did have them, not as often as Eugene, and he never made a sound or woke Eugene or himself with them. But in the mornings he was stony-eyed and tense, shrugging away from Eugene's touch, or worse, lost somewhere in his own head, eyes distant. Eugene never knew what to say or do, found himself falling back into old habits, watching him and not reaching out, until Snafu found his way back on his own.  
The thing was, Eugene got the feeling it wasn't just the war that haunted Snafu's nights, but other memories from further back, things Snafu wouldn't talk about and Eugene could only guess at. Snafu rarely spoke about his life before the war, and if anything he only guarded his secrets more closely these days, some last part of himself that he held back. It worried Eugene, twisted him up, but all he could do was press on, and he did, they did.  
Eugene became a regular at the local grocery, got friendly with the owner, and eventually got a weekend job there. Snafu grumbled, insisted they were fine, but Eugene knew by now how much of his hard-earned pay went to their rent. It remained a point of contention, but they ended up with enough cash between the two of them to live it up a bit on Christmas Eve, eating oysters and drinking beer, shoved up close together in a crowded little eatery.   
New Year's came and went, and Eugene got another letter from home, warmer this time, and wrote one back, asking after his brother and, almost against his will, after Sid. He started classes, and it began to feel like he and Snafu rarely had time for each other, falling into bed together at night, exchanging sleepy, grumbling goodbyes in the morning. One night, only a couple weeks into the semester, Snafu didn't come home. Eugene didn't mark it at first, buried in a textbook, and anyways Snafu sometimes went out with the boys from work for a couple of drinks. But he eventually noticed how tired he was, how late it was, realized Snafu was still not home. He waited up, worried and pacing, as the hours ticked by tortuously slow. It was nearly three in the morning, and he was sitting outside their door shivering and smoking his pipe, when he made out Snafu's shape in the gloom, making his way down the street. Eugene stood up and tapped the tobacco out of the bowl of his pipe, fighting to keep his fingers steady, to tamp down on the anger and relief building up in him. Snafu climbed the steps and walked past him into the apartment without a word. Eugene followed after him, taking care not to slam the door closed behind them.   
Snafu collapsed onto the couch, head falling back, and Eugene saw with a start that he had a black eye, plum red and swollen, the bruise extending down to his cheekbone. He crossed the room and lifted Snafu's hand; his knuckles were bruised, the most prominent one had busted and scabbed over. "What the fuck, Snafu," he breathed. Snafu pulled away, tucked his hands under his arms.   
"Got fired," he drawled, careless. He cracked his good eye open, looked Eugene over, and then closed it again.   
"What." Eugene bit down on the word. Snafu didn't answer, and Eugene turned away, walked once around the room before coming back to stand in front of him again. "What happened."  
"S'not worth rehashing. I fucking hated that job anyways." It was clear from the slur of his words that he'd been drinking.   
Eugene stood silently for a moment, seething, then turned and went to the kitchen, dumped ice into a rag. He sat down by Snafu and forced himself to move slowly, handle him gently. He tipped Snafu's face to the side and pressed the rag against his eye. "Hold it there, you damn drunk," he said gruffly, and Snafu obediently lifted a hand and held the rag in place. Eugene took his free hand, the bruised one, and held it carefully in his own, tracing his fingers along the red knuckles. He felt it twist inside him again, the gaps between them that he couldn't close, the secret hurts that Snafu wrapped himself tight around, that Eugene couldn't ease for him. He looked up and found Snafu watching him. Eugene looked back, filled up with hopeless, useless love.   
"It's my birthday," Snafu mumbled, and Eugene blinked.  
"Today? This morning?" Snafu nodded. "Is that why - "  
"No," Snafu said, quick. "It's just funny, is all." He turned his face away, mouth working.  
"'Funny,'" Eugene repeated, carefully, drawing him out like he would a mistreated dog. "Why?"  
"Just," Snafu got quiet for a long moment, then started again. "Just shouldn't even be here, y'know? It was nice in a way, over there." He was speaking haltingly, confused, like he didn't even understand what he was saying. His face was still turned away, tilted up towards the ceiling. "I knew I was gonna die. Didn't have to worry about what I was doing, about anything that happened before. And then it's over, and I'm alive, fucking somehow." He sounded so angry, so genuinely betrayed, Eugene sat frozen with it. "And now I gotta live with it, and it has to matter, because now I've got - " He clamped his jaw shut, mouth twisted tight. The words he left unspoken hung between them, settled sickly in the pit of Eugene's stomach. He moved in, pressed closer, until he was halfway in Snafu's lap. He turned him gently by the jaw, Snafu barely resisting, letting the rag fall away. His eyes dug into Eugene's.   
He traced light fingers over his bruised cheek, his brow. "What can I do?" He murmured, lost, loving. "Merriell. It matters to me." He didn't know what else to say, how to say it. Snafu sighed, but settled his hands on Eugene's waist, tugging him closer.  
"Shoulda died on that airfield," he said, but then his lips twitched up into a little smirk. "But you had to come back for me. You know, that next day was when I first noticed how goddamn fine you are." Eugene sputtered on a surprised laugh and Snafu grinned, then winced and touched his bruised cheek gingerly.  
"Come on," Eugene said, pulling him to his feet. "You're eating something and then taking a shower. We need to sleep some before we figure out what we're gonna do for your birthday."  
"You've got class," Snafu said, following him to the kitchen.  
"I'll skip, one day won't matter," Eugene said stubbornly. "I said we would do something special."  
They ended up sleeping in until nearly noon, then went out together, wandering around the city like they hadn't done in over a month. They watched a film, then Snafu dragged him into a little hole in the wall where they ate heaping servings of étoufée, far too spicy for Eugene, Snafu snorting into his drink with amusement while he struggled to finish his helping. They couldn't afford it, any of it, but they got dessert anyway. Snafu looked terrible, his eye and cheek one big purple bruise, but it wasn't enough to break the fragile barrier they had built around themselves, thin glass that barely held up against the weight pressing down on it; they were desperate and happy beneath it as it held, kept holding.   
Returning home, under the cover of darkness, Snafu pressed Eugene up against their door and kissed him, dangerous, reckless. "I got something in mind to make this one memorable," he murmured against his ear. Eugene scowled at him, but couldn't bring himself to push him away, instead fumbling one-handed at their door. Snafu felt slight and supple against him, ready and willing to be bent any way Eugene wanted him. The thought had him hard as a stone. Snafu laughed low, like he knew exactly what Eugene was thinking. They pushed inside, still pressed together, and Snafu looked down at the ground and raised a brow. He slanted a look at Eugene, one gray-blue eye. "Looks like you got a letter," he said.  
Eugene didn't give a damn about mail at the moment, but he looked because Snafu obviously wanted him to. He frowned, recognizing the handwriting. "It's from Sid," he said, startled, unwrapping one arm from Snafu and reaching down to pick it up.   
"Ya don't say," Snafu drawled. Eugene fingered the corner of the envelope nervously.  
"What do you suppose it's about?" He said, hopeful, afraid to be hopeful.   
"What do you think it's about?" Snafu said, tilting his head back and giving Eugene that mocking smile that told him he was a hopeless idiot. "What the hell else would he be writing to you about?" Eugene hesitated, drummed his fingers on Snafu's back. "Gene," he said, amused, irritated. "I'm right here. Go on, open it."

_"You need a break, Eugene," Sid said, annoyingly patient. "Let the boys take you out for some real food, it'll do you good." They were standing in the bedroom doorway, and Eugene was feeling mulishly stubborn._  
_"He's been sleeping for a while, he'll probably be waking up again soon. I don't want to be out for that."_  
_"If he wakes up while you're gone, I'll tell him where you're at. He'll be happy to know it, and you'll be back in no time."_  
_It was almost enough to make Eugene regret answering the damn door. But he knew Sid was right. He felt near to shattering, couldn't remember when he last left the house. "Just, give me a minute," he said, and turned away, went to Snafu's side. His breathing had been unpredictable as of late, but it was deep and even at the moment, and Eugene tried to tell himself that meant something. He reached out, ran tender fingers down the side of his face. "Mer," he said quietly, in case Snafu could hear him. "I'll be back soon." He waited for a moment, waited for him to open his eyes, speak to him, anything at all, he could cuss him out and tear him down, it wouldn't matter, just so long as he fucking looked at him, spoke to him. He felt the burn of tears, felt grief drag heavy up his throat. He dropped his hand and turned away. He would be right back, he assured himself. He'd be right back._


	5. The sights were as stark as my baby

_It was hard, it was damn near impossible, to hold himself still and slack and not respond to Eugene's fingers on his cheek, careful and loving like they'd always been for him. But he managed it, and managed to keep himself awake afterwards, listening to the boys gently urge Eugene out of the house, the shuffle of their feet walking away, the door closing. Once he heard its click, he opened his eyes, saw Sid standing in the doorway, looking down the hall towards the door they had just left through. "Phillips," he said, and Sid startled, spun around to stare at him in surprise and something like horror. It amused him, distantly, but he felt too fucking awful to waste time mocking the old man like he deserved. "Get over here," he said, putting what little strength he had left into the words. "I need your help."_

"One of the regulars here told me he knows a guy looking to fill a spot on a construction crew." Eugene said it with his back turned, lifting a crate of produce off the truck, drawing the motion out longer than he needed before turning around and handing it down to Merriell.  
"Ain't that something," Merriell said, annoyed, shooting for disinterested but knowing it was hopeless, Eugene would see right through that. He dropped the crate to the storeroom floor, deliberately careless, letting it hit with a loud clatter.  
"Easy, Snaf," Eugene snapped, glaring at him from the back of the truck. Merriell raised both his hands in a mockery of innocence.  
"It slipped, swear to Christ." He slanted a look up at Eugene, purposefully didn't lower his voice. "Got a little distracted by the view." Eugene's eyes darkened in anger, lips settling into a displeased line. Maybe that would shut him up. Merriell held his gaze and lifted his hands for the next crate.  
They worked in silence for a bit. It had been a handful of days since Merriell lost his job down at the port, and Eugene had convinced his boss to give him a couple shifts at the store, helping out in back. It lit a hot anger in Merriell, he'd get something, he didn't need Eugene to go begging around the neighborhood for him. But they needed the money, so there was nothing for it.   
He didn't know shit about construction work, but then he didn't really know much of anything except how to kill on command. He'd built country roads with the CCC, and knew more about different cuts of lumber than he'd ever wanted to. That was it. He glanced over at Eugene, working beside him, focused and earnest, even when it came to something as uninteresting as moving a bunch of food around a room. His hair was flopping down onto his forehead, and Merriell wanted to push it back, thought about how he had done just that the night before, pushed it back so that he could look him in the eyes, watch his mouth move on him. Eugene had looked up at him, had run his hands across his ass and down and up the back of his thighs in that way of his, so goddamn tender that Merriell almost hated it, hated how much he craved it, how it broke him a little each time. He supposed he knew a couple of other things well enough. Knew he wasn't going to fuck this up, he didn't care what he had to do.  
"What kind of work are we talking?" He asked, and Eugene glanced over at him.  
Turned out it was a crew that mostly worked with residential buildings, overhauling old houses and spiffing them up for rich assholes. It was managed by a guy named Lou Landry, a short, stocky colored man with a square face who Merriell first saw jabbing the corner of his clipboard into the chest of a larger worker holding some sort of iron grate in his hands. He had a deep, booming quality to his voice that he put to good use tearing into the other guy. Merriell waited until the man with the grate cleared off, then stepped forward.   
"Lou Landry?"   
"That's me." He had already turned his attention back to something on his clipboard, but he pivoted around so that he was turned towards Merriell. He had one of those faces that were hard to judge, but Merriell figured he must be somewhere on the other side of fifty.  
"Merriell Shelton. I hear you're looking for another hand."  
"That's right. You got any experience?"   
"No. But I'm used to working hard and keeping my mouth shut." Lying right out the gate.  
"We do most of our work in the city, but I take contracts all across the south of the state. You got any issues with traveling for work?"  
"Depends. A couple weeks, a month, that'd be alright. Any longer won't work."  
Landry looked up for the first time, looked him over. "You a family man?"  
"No family. Don't mean I don't got a life." Landry was eyeballing him now, measuring him. Merriell stared back.  
"I understand you served."   
"Marines," Merriell drew the word out, bracing himself for whatever meaningless, moronic comment came next.  
"Lost a lot of good boys over there."   
_Pas de merde._ Merriell just looked at him. Landry's eyes dropped back down to his clipboard.   
"Alright, we'll see how you do. Manning!" His voice rang out suddenly, heads turning towards them.   
"Yeah?"  
"Meet Merriell Shelton. Get him started pulling out that old molding."  
Merriell beat Eugene home that evening, it being a fairly quick commute from the work site to their apartment. He showered and started rooting around in the kitchen, trying to figure out dinner. Eugene was constantly bringing home shit from the store that was too old to sell and so they usually had enough to throw together something half decent. Merriell figured he could cook up a tolerable gumbo with what he found. His ma had always said that as long as you had okra, you had gumbo. Of course, she had been able to build a meal out of fucking nothing. Merriell remembered her bending over their cast iron stove, checking the coals, singing, she was always singing something, hands always busy. Whenever she stopped for a moment to stroke his hair or lay one of her rough, square hands on his cheek, it had felt like a gift.  
It made him an odd sort of dully furious, thinking back on her wasting her life circling that damn stove, like sheer force of will could keep them together and fed, until finally even the stupid stubbornness that had carried her that far broke, and she went and -   
"Snafu."  
He blinked, turned his head. Eugene was standing beside him, intent, dark eyes. He was tugging the spoon Merriell had been holding out of his hand.   
"What are you doing?"  
"What's it look like? Making dinner. Gumbo."  
"Yeah? Looks like you're staring at the wall, burning butter." Merriell looked down at the blackened smoking mess sticking to the bottom of the pot.  
"Huh," he grunted. He grabbed a towel, tossed the pot into the sink. He could sense Eugene watching him. "How's your classes?"  
"Fine. Interesting." Merriell went to the sofa and flopped down and Eugene followed after, settling in beside him, bumping their knees together. "How'd it go with the construction job?"  
"I got it." He could feel Eugene trying to snag him, grab onto something and pull him out with it. He turned and looked at him, all neat and tidy in his shirt and tie, eyes solemn. How was it possible that he had this, had everything, and still felt like he was being sucked down into black mud? It was that _other_ person, that useless fucking kid. Merriell had thought he'd killed him off in the war, but he'd just been lurking somewhere around the edges, waiting to push back in and remind him of all the shit he just wanted to forget. Eugene reached out, slid his hand slow and gentle around the back of Merriell's neck and he leaned back into it, Christ there was nothing like Eugene's touch, like his eyes on him.   
"Mer," Eugene said, soft, and Merriell rolled into him, wanting more contact, wanting to hide. He could tell him. Eugene would listen, and Merriell knew those bits of himself would be safe, Eugene would hold them close. But he couldn't do it, couldn't risk Eugene looking at him with different eyes. He felt Eugene sigh, resigned, accepting, felt his arms come around him. Merriell worked his way into his lap and started nibbling along his chin. "How'd your first day go?" Eugene asked, his lips brushing against Merriell's nose.  
"Not bad," Merriell answered, and meant it.   
It was a surprise to Merriell, that he ended up liking his job. There was something about tearing shit down, pulling away old broken bits and leaving an open, ugly spot there in its place. Merriell thought about that shack the four of them had lived in, bent boards, dim and close. He thought about that blasted out hut, the gaping roof, the broken possessions scattered around the bodies. It would have been good, so damn satisfying, to take those places apart, piece by piece.   
Merriell learned about roofing, iron work. He learned all the different signs of a weak foundation. He learned about framing, pipe fitting, fucking building codes. His role in the crew continued to be one of filling gaps where needed, and that was fine by him. Landry turned out to be a decent boss, with a hot temper that passed as quickly as it flared, and a gruff way of looking out for the men on his crew. Something about him reminded Merriell of Haney, old Pops. A body never could predict what might come out of his mouth, but it would be always be oddly shrewd.  
Months passed, and then years, and Eugene stayed. Merriell couldn't really understand it most days. That Eugene continued to love him, that, more often than not, he seemed content. He would go through dark spells, there were some things that no amount of time or care could mend, they both knew that. He would just kind of fade out, and Merriell would spend the next week or so hurrying home from work, usually to find Eugene hunched on the couch, eyes angry and full of grief, miserable under the weight of it. Merriell stuck close to him, didn't know what else to do but stay beside him, and Eugene always managed to come out from beneath it with time.   
After a couple of years, Merriell proved himself to be savvy enough that Landry started relying on him to help out managing work sites when they had multiple ones going at a time. Merriell didn't really care for the work, but he did enjoy making their clients, usually some well-heeled piece of shit, feel stupid when they came to him with their petty complaints. He had been doing just that, staring _le vieux riche imbécile down_ , repeating his words back to him, slow and drawling, so that he could hear how goddamn idiotic he was sounding, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He tensed, turning, and was surprised to see Landry standing behind him.   
"Whatcha doing, Lou? Thought you were bidding for that house today." Landry motioned with his arm, and Merriell followed along with him as they stepped away, the client sputtering behind them.  
"I'm giving you the rest of the day off," Landry said. "Got a call from the hospital. Seems your roommate was in an accident and they need you down there."  
"Eugene?" Merriell said stupidly. Landry's words weren't making any fucking sense.  
"Guess he doesn't have any family around here?"  
"They live in Alabama," he answered, blank. Someone was screaming, he could swear he heard someone screaming, or maybe it sounded more like something roaring through the air towards them, but no one else was acting like they heard anything. "Is he dead?"  
"What? No. Least, they didn't say anything like that on the phone." Landry was staring hard at him now. Merriell tried to pull Eugene's face up in his mind and couldn't, and then the fear kicked in. _Gene, Eugene_. "Shelton. Go on now, I'm sure everything's fine." Merriell moved, made himself keep moving, walking lead footed away from the site.   
He got around the corner, out of sight, and collapsed, crouching down with his back against a building and folding in on himself. He huddled down around his own knees the way they used to when artillery landed too close, sometimes when it happened Eugene would throw his arm over Merriell's shoulder, such a stupid gesture, like his arm would be any kind of protection if a shell actually hit them. Merriell felt a burn behind his eyes and realized he was about to start crying, tried to take deep breaths to calm himself, he hadn't cried in fifteen fucking years and he wasn't going to do it now, but his breath was coming too fast and he couldn't slow it down, his whole damn body was getting on with things without him, and Eugene, Eugene -   
"Shelton." Merriell whipped his head up, around. Landry was looking down at him, frowning with concern. "Boy, what the hell are you doing? You ain't doing nobody a lick of good hiding in some alley. Get up." Merriell obeyed sluggishly, unlocking his arms from around his knees and getting back on his feet. Landry eyed him up and down sharply. "Straighten yourself out and get to the hospital. Your friend's waiting. I expect you back on site tomorrow." With that, he turned and walked away.  
By the time Merriell was led into the room where they were keeping Eugene, he had calmed down, had managed to push all the damn panic off to the side. Eugene was sitting on the edge of a bed, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing when Merriell left that morning, talking to a doctor. His head was bandaged, hair sticking up straight around the edges of the wrapping. His eyes snapped to Merriell as soon as he entered the room. "I'm fine," he said, quick, like he knew everything Merriell had been thinking. He held his gaze for a moment, then dropped it, cautious of the doctor. Merriell took a few steps into the room and stopped, stood there.  
"Most likely, but you'll need to keep an eye on him," the doctor said, turning so that he could address the both of them. "It doesn't look to be too serious, but Mr. Sledge did lose consciousness, and he has declined to have any scans taken."  
"It's too expensive," Eugene muttered. "It's just a knock on the head. I wanted to just go home, but they wouldn't release me until I called somebody." He didn't look at Merriell, was glaring at the ground all churlish, but Merriell heard him. Apologizing. _Chéri_ , he thought, feeling it all roll over him, relief and tenderness, frustration and worry. _Tout ce que tu me donnes._  
"So you bumped your head, huh, Jack?" Eugene looked up at his words, scanned his face. His lips pulled back instead of up, that old smile. "What do I gotta do, Doc?" Merriell said, not looking away from Eugene.  
When they closed the door behind them at home, Merriell ran shaking hands over him, feeling him, solid and real and here; it was some kind of miracle, that he existed, that he shared himself with Merriell. Eugene held him close and murmured to him, Merriell didn't even really hear him, just took in his soft voice, felt how it vibrated in his throat, his chest. When he returned to the construction site the next day, Landry put him to work without asking any questions.  
Eugene did four years of schooling and decided that it wasn't enough; Merriell thought he was crazy but couldn't really complain when Eugene got so fired up about the stuff. His focus had shifted to ecology and he could and did put Merriell to sleep going on about the importance of environmental conservation. Merriell thought about his daddy, eyes always sharp, watching the trees or the sky for a dramatic color, a long wingspan. When he saw one, he shot sure and quick, the brainless things never knew what hit them. His daddy preferred plume hunting to any other pastime, and it never took him too long to sell the feathers. He got caught more than once and had to serve some time over it, but that never stopped him. It was another one of those things that Merriell supposed he wouldn't ever tell Eugene, because he hadn't liked it, but he sure hadn't hated it either. It had helped keep them clothed and fed and that was something. Eugene talked about the creatures with a brightness in his eyes, hands lifting in the air like he was trying to grab on to something there that only he could see so that he could show it to Merriell, share it. It made Merriell shrivel up inside with guilt.  
Landry's work crew was close knit, and Merriell had been part of it long enough now that it was assumed he would join the boys for a drink after work on Fridays, or for the occasional weekend poker game. Merriell always went along, he had to at least act the part of the unattached bachelor, even if the truth was that he was tied down good and tight. Anyways it wasn't exactly a trial to flirt outrageously with a good looking woman. Sometimes they'd be receptive, sometimes he'd be tempted, but he'd always feel the ghost of Eugene's touch, his fingers tracking their way down his spine, careful, like Merriell was something rare. In his time with the CCC, not long after he figured out his own preferences, Merriell had gotten something of a reputation with the guys who were looking for it as someone who was always up for being fucked, someone who didn't mind how it happened. It hadn't mattered who, and it hadn't mattered how rough. He'd been so fucked in the head back then, he'd preferred it that way. He hadn't really understood it then, and he sure as hell didn't understand looking back on it now. It was like he had liked being hurt, like it eased him somehow. When he compared that to what he had now, to how Eugene stared at him, into him, as he pushed in, how he dropped fleeting, soothing touches to his shoulder, his hip, how he said his name, breathless, or tightly controlled, or reverent, how he broke Merriell down and put him back together each and every damn time - Merriell could scarcely believe it was the same act.   
He knew Eugene was curious about his past experiences; he hadn't tried to hide the fact that he'd done it all before. But he never asked, and when Merriell imagined trying to explain it to him, what he had liked and how goddamn meaningless it all had been, something inside him curdled and soured. He couldn't.  
Landry had a heart attack and had to do a stint in the hospital, and Merriell had to manage the site for him while he was laid up. It put him in a foul mood, and not just because he didn't like the work. He was worried about the old man, the whole crew was. His health wasn't good and he was getting old anyways, and once he retired they were all out of a job. Some of the guys started taking other work on the side, getting their names out there, but Merriell didn't, figured he owed it to Landry to ride it out. Landry came back from the hospital a little quieter, but the work continued and everyone relaxed a bit as time went on. One day Merriell showed up to work, only to have Landry toss his clipboard and hard hat to the side and motion for Merriell to follow him. "Got a house in the Bywater to take a look at," was all he said.  
Merriell grunted in interest. Landry had taken him along a few times now to look at prospective sites, figure up the work and the cost. The neighborhood was a bit of surprise; most of the folk with money to throw at Landry lived in other parts of the city. He was even more surprised when they got to the house. It was just a small side hall, surrounded by other simple, modest homes, shotgun houses and creole cottages. He shot Landry a look, but went along with it when he opened the door and motioned for him to take a look around. He walked through the place carefully, trying to figure it out. He met Landry out back, on the small patch of green that served as a backyard.   
"Well?" Landry said, impatient, something amused in his face. Merriell took his time answering, tapping out a smoke, taking a long slow pull and blowing it back out. He got the feeling he was being tested and it irritated him.  
"Waste of your time, Lou, not to mention my own. Don't bother bidding for it." Landry grinned, sudden and big.  
"Why's that?"  
"Place is in good shape. Needs a new roof, updated plumbing. Just old and ugly, but that's all surface shit, you know that. Not enough work to make it worth the guys' time, and the pay would be small time too." He went with his instinct, hazarded a guess. "This a personal project?"  
"Got it in one," Landry said with a laugh. He stepped back a bit, looked at the house fondly. "I bought it a couple years ago with the idea of fixing it up and selling it. I get so tired of these uptown fools some days, thought about restructuring the crew, scaling back, y'know? But it never came to nothing, and the place has just been sitting here."  
"So what?" Merriell said, turning so he was facing the house too. "You're ready to now?" It would be a change of pace, but not necessarily a bad one, he supposed. "You'll have to let a lot of the boys go."  
"Naw," Landry said. "I figure I'll just keep on taking their money for now." He looked over at Merriell. "You know I've been married four times?" Merriell blinked. He hadn't known, and he had no idea why it was being brought up. "None of them lasted. I've always been a bastard, and I kept marrying dames too damn smart to stick it out." Merriell chuckled around his cigarette. "So here I am, sixty-two, no lady, no kids, just a bum heart and bad habits that I'm too old to break."  
"You're obviously thinking about changing something, Lou," Merriell said, dropping his cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it with the toe of his boot. "You thinking about fixing the place up and settling here?" He eyed the house again. "Could be nice, with some work. You could catch yourself a sweet old lady once you get it all spick and pretty." He looked at Landry, who was watching him with an odd, almost embarrassed expression.  
"No," he said, looking from Merriell to the house and back again. "I've been thinking that I should give it to you."  
Merriell didn't get it for a couple of seconds, and the cold wave of anger that went through him when he did had him turning on Landry, squaring off. "Fuck you," he bit out through his teeth. _J'ai quelqu'un, I have a home_.   
Landry didn't look surprised at all, like he'd expected him to react the way he was, and that made Merriell more furious. "You're still young, Shelton. You got time, don't waste it. Being old and alone is hell."  
"I don't need or want any goddamn charity from you," Merriell said. The son of a bitch didn't know shit if he thought they were the same, Merriell hadn't wasted his chance, he'd grabbed it and held onto it. He had him, he had Eugene. Only Eugene. Even as he thought it, Merriell felt the terrible truth of it. There was only Eugene standing between him and that black pit, there wasn't anybody else; if he left him, if something happened to him, Merriell would fall back into it. Landry must have seen something in his eyes, some fear or weakness, because he tried again in a softer tone.  
"It's not charity, alright? I like you Shelton, you're a good kid - "  
"I'm not a fucking kid," Merriell cut in. "And I sure as hell ain't your kid." He saw that one land, pressed on, said it slow, mocking and cruel. "You don't have a kid, remember? You don't have anybody." Landry's face sagged, for a moment his whole body pulled in like he was protecting himself from a blow. Then he found his temper, jaw shaking with anger.   
"Alright then, Shelton," he said, hard and even. He pulled the keys out of his pocket, threw them to the ground in front of Merriell. "Consider it your severance pay. You're fired."  
Merriell didn't even really see him leave, just stood glaring at nothing and fighting to bring himself under control. He didn't know how much time passed before he looked around the empty little backyard, looked down at the keys laying at his feet. He thought about just walking away. He thought about burning the house down. In the end he locked the doors and pocketed the keys and went home.  
Eugene was shocked when Merriell told him that he'd been fired; he'd never met Landry but knew that Merriell had liked him and liked working for him. Merriell wouldn't tell him how it happened, turned on Eugene instead, tore into him. The fight that their night devolved into was the worse they'd ever had. Merriell just let it pour out, whatever he could think of to hurt him, until Eugene was shaking with distress and fury. It ended up coming to blows between them, and then fucking each other hard and hateful. Afterwards they lay side by side and didn't speak. Merriell thought about apologizing but got up instead, grabbing his pants off the floor. He closed the door behind him and pulled the keys out of his pocket. The second bedroom was an empty space, unused for anything except storage. His old sea bag was stuck in the closet there; Merriell pulled it out and stored the keys away beside the gold teeth.   
Finding work wasn't an issue, Merriell had gotten enough of a reputation on Landry's crew that there was always some job willing to take him on. Merriell avoided the boys he used to work with, kept to himself and tried not to think. But the thoughts kept coming, all the things he'd been pushing to the side were shoving back in, insistent; what he'd done, what he hadn't done. Merriell hadn't ever remembered his dreams before, but he started to now, and they were fucking awful. Dreams of the war, dead friends, toothless corpses, him struggling against a knife, against the mud, fear and hate and hopelessness. Dreams from before, gnawing hunger, the desperate uncertainty, his daddy's hard hands, all the loathing and uselessness.  
Less than half a year after Landry fired him, Merriell got a letter in the mail from some fancy sounding legal firm. The old man was dead, and he had deeded property over to him and Merriell would need to show up in person to accept ownership. Merriell bunched the letter up and threw it away, then pulled it back out and put it with the keys. He didn't say anything to Eugene.  
He and Eugene didn't have much to say to each other anyways. Merriell picked at him, knew him so damn well, knew all his weaknesses and just what to say to hurt him, anger him. Eugene started walking around with his walls up, protecting himself. He took to watching Merriell that same way that he had during the war, measuring him. Merriell knew he was ruining it, ruining everything, but as they went on he cared less and less. That black pit wasn't going anywhere, after all, but Eugene was, it was just a matter of time. Merriell was tired of pretending he wasn't going to end up alone. The space between them widened and stretched until one night Merriell lay in bed beside Eugene, listened to him breathe softly, studied his face, and barely felt anything at all. Love and sorrow, or the memory of what they felt like, followed him down as he went to sleep.  
His father was sitting on the wooden bench in front of their old shack, his gun in his lap. He didn't look up at Merriell, but his voice was approving when he spoke. _Je suis fier de toi, mon garçon. Tu le vois, maintenant_. Merriell could hear the creak of his mother's footsteps inside the shack, could hear her humming to herself.   
_See what? You ain't proud of me, you scarcely ever noticed me._  
_Vivre c'est souffrir, mon garçon. C'est la vérité. Viens t'asseoir avec moi._ He gestured to the bench.  
_Don't you listen, Merriell,_ his mother called from inside. _It's sweet, bursting sweet. That's what gets you, in the end._  
_You would know something about that,_ Merriell shot back. He glared at his father. _You didn't have to do it. You're what killed her._  
_Elle mourait déjà. Je croyais que tu avais compris. L'amour est ce qui te tue_. He never did look up. He put the barrel against his mouth.  
_You'll die alone either way, chéri,_ his mother said. Merriell could hear the crackling of the fire now, spreading across the worn out boards. _Everybody does. You might as well give it while you can. It's the only thing that can equal out the hurt._  
_Did it equal out for you?_ Merriell asked, knowing it hadn't, but Haney pulled on his arm, tugged him around.  
_Look at me_. His eyes were wild, bright red around the blue. _It doesn't matter what you do for them, the best ones never make it back. We're what's left over._  
_You're wrong._ Merriell knew it, didn't know anything else. _He made it back, we got him through it_. Haney grimaced, the closest he got to smiling.  
_There's no helping you if you think that's true. It's boys like them that got us through. You know what you were before he came along. Nothing but a killer_. Then the Jap was on him.   
He'd jumped into his foxhole, thought he'd catch him off guard, but Merriell had been ready for him. They grappled, desperate and close, but Merriell was fueled by a cold hate that the Jap couldn't match. He pinned him, dug in with his knees and his elbows to hold him down, got his hands around his neck. He squeezed, watched his face, it felt fucking good watching him die and Merriell didn't care what that made him. The Nip struggled, tried to throw him, tried to pry his hands loose, but Merriell just leaned in and tightened his grip. _Die, just fucking die_.  
"Snafu."  
It was weak, barely more than a gasp, but it snapped him awake. He fell back, let go of Eugene's throat. Eugene rolled over, away, heaving for breath. He held up a hand, warding Merriell off. "What the fuck, Snafu?" He wheezed.  
Merriell started to shake. He wanted to touch him, knew he couldn't, he didn't have the right to touch him anymore. "Gene," he said, blankly miserable, sorry and bent low with it. Eugene turned and looked at him over his shoulder, Merriell couldn't make out his eyes in the dark, couldn't see their expression. He was thankful for that. He got up, walked out of the room. He grabbed his pack off the kitchen counter and went and sat at the table. He pulled out a cigarette but didn't light it, just twisted it apart in his hand while he dug the fingers of his free hand tight into his own hair. This was it, this had to be it. He heard Eugene approach, saw him sit down across from him out of the corner of his eye. It was ending.   
"I'm sorry." It was a shock to his system, hearing those words come from Eugene. His voice was scratchy, rough. It was all backwards, wrong. "You don't usually move around or make a sound, when you," he stopped, cleared his throat. "I didn't handle it well, waking you up. Guess I don't have the same knack for it that you do." He tried to say it lightly, a sad attempt at a joke, and Merriell dropped the remains of the cigarette, clenched his fingers around the edge of the table.  
"What the fuck are you doing, apologizing to me?" He grated out. He looked up at him, took in the red splotches around his neck, glared at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"  
Eugene's eyes darkened with anger, then emptied. He looked away, then back at Merriell. "We can't keep going like this, Snaf." Here it was. "I'm worn out from always fighting with you, bouncing back and forth between trying to pull you out and trying to get the hell away from you." His lip curled up, bitter. "You must know you're impossible to win against, and I don't even know what I'm trying to win, anyways." He got up and came around to where Merriell was sitting, surprising him. He stood awkwardly by Merriell's seat, like he didn't know what to do next, and when he spoke again his voice was trembling. "I hate this fucking gap between us, hate that I can't do anything to close it, you won't let me, or maybe you can't - " He broke off, breath jerky, out of words.  
He'd tried to fight it, loving Eugene. From the very beginning he'd fought against himself. Even when he was running towards him he was fighting it. They'd been living together, something close to happy, for more than six years, and Eugene had been waiting and patient, and Merriell still couldn't stop. The words dropped out of him. "It's only you, Eugene. There's nothing else." He stared down at the table, looked over when Eugene shifted, kneeling down beside his chair. Eugene put his hands on his knees, turned him towards him.  
"It's the same for me too, Snafu." Merriell huffed and shook his head.  
"Don't. It's not, and you know it."   
"What do you not get?" Eugene snapped, fingers digging into Merriell's flesh. "You think I could replace you? Just because I have a family, other people, that don't mean you're not my - " His voice cracked and fell away, he tugged on Merriell until he was on the edge of his seat, wrapped his arms vise-like around him. He pushed his head against Merriell's chest, forehead digging painfully against his sternum. "Why can't you believe me when I say it?" He choked.   
It was impossible not to lift his arms, hold on tight. Merriell buried his nose in his hair, breathed him in. "I'm sorry," he said, because he was a weak fucking bastard, because he wanted to believe it. "Eugene, _mon coeur_. I'm sorry."  
The next day, Merriell didn't go to work. Instead he showed up too early at the address the letter directed him to, was waiting when the secretary turned up to unlock the doors. He spoke as little as possible, signed what they put in front of him, and rode the streetcar to the Bywater. He stood out front and stared at the house, looking it over carefully. The narrow brick porch was steady enough, but the job hadn't been done neatly enough for his taste, he'd have to take it apart and redo it. The house needed a fresh coat of paint, but he figured he would stick with the color and pattern it already had, or do it over however Eugene wanted. He walked slow through the house, cataloging, the front room with the big windows where Eugene could keep his desk and his books, the two bedrooms in the middle. The kitchen was small but then they only ever cooked for two. The back room was dark and would barely fit more than a couch, but that was alright, they just needed some place to sprawl out and listen to the radio. He went out the back door and looked around the yard. The fence was a fucking shambles, he'd have to take care of that. The rest of it he figured he'd leave up to Eugene, let him plant some stuff, the man had a whole degree dedicated to the damn things after all. He glanced over at the spot where he and Landry had stood. He supposed the old asshole had known what he was about, even if he hadn't known the truth of it. He felt the regret like a twitch in his chest, but there wasn't anything for it but to live with it. Life was pain, its sweetness could kill you.   
He worked on the house in his free time, only taking the jobs he had to in order to keep bringing home a paycheck. Besides, money wasn't desperate tight like it used to be, he and Eugene didn't spend on much and they made enough between the two of them to make ends meet and sock some away. He didn't tell Eugene about the house, and if Eugene noticed him being gone more than usual, he didn't bring it up. He was busy himself, did all kinds of work at the university that Merriell didn't understand, still picked up shifts at the grocery, and was working towards his doctorate. The idiot had two degrees and thought there was still more worth knowing. Merriell mocked him over it, it was a relief to be able to tease him again after the tense, miserable year they'd barely made it through.   
In the end, it took him more than a year to get the place fixed up right, shape it into the kind of home they deserved. Then he stalled some more, because he had a half-formed idea about how he wanted to go about it. He bought some stuff for the place here and there while he waited, a bigger bed for them to stretch out in, an old redwood desk that he stuck between the two windows and polished up until it gleamed. They cut out of town on Eugene's birthday, got out on the water. Merriell fished and Eugene bird watched.   
"Thirty-one," Merriell said, looking down at Eugene. His head was propped against his leg, the rest of him stretched out across the length of their rented boat. _Eight years_ , he thought to himself. He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth, leaned down and kissed him quick. "Getting old, Sledgehammer."  
"Better than the alternative," Eugene muttered, lips pulling back. "Hand me my pipe."  
"Bossy, you know how that gets me," Merriell drawled but Eugene just snorted and he handed him his pipe without making him work anymore for it. He watched Eugene fiddle with it, those careful hands. "Got something for you this year," he said, and Eugene looked up at him in surprise.  
"Really? What?" Merriell grinned.  
"You'll get it tomorrow."  
They got back late to the apartment and went straight to bed. The next morning they woke up when they pleased and fucked slow and sleepy, unhurried. Afterwards Merriell made Eugene breakfast.   
"If this is my present, you won't hear me complain about it," Eugene said, tucking into his eggs.   
"Naw, you gotta get dressed and out the door for that," Merriell replied and Eugene raised his brow, intrigued. They rode the streetcar, Eugene dividing his speculative glances between Merriell and their route, and Merriell becoming more nervous the closer they got. He tried to cover it up, but Eugene had always seen right through him, and by the time they got off and started walking through the neighborhood he had fallen silent, was looking around with those sharp, open eyes, taking everything in. They stopped in front of the house and Merriell held the key out to Eugene, gestured with his free arm, stiff-limbed and clumsy. Eugene hesitated, then reached out and took the keys, walked slowly up to the front door and opened it. Merriell followed. He watched Eugene look the first room over, taking his time before settling his gaze on the desk sitting by the windows. He walked over to it, set the keys down and turned around.   
"Snafu, what is this?" He didn't look angry, but he sure as hell didn't look pleased. His lips were set tight, his eyes searching and confused.  
"I own it," Merriell answered. He went on before Eugene could say anything. "Been fixing it up in my spare time. Thought we could move here, if you like the place." It didn't look good if the expression on Eugene's face was anything to go by. "It's got a backyard," he added, like that might help.  
"You own it," Eugene said, flat. "You've been fixing it up." He turned, moved past Merriell, following the long narrow hall down further into the house. He looked at each room carefully, Merriell trailing behind him. When they got to the back room, he opened the door, glanced out into the yard, closed it again. He turned around, pinned Merriell with his eyes. "Merriell. What the hell is going on." It wasn't really a question. Merriell looked away, shrugged, fidgeted. "How long have you had this house?"  
"It's been in the works for a while now," Merriell muttered. "All started about two, three years ago, I suppose." He heard Eugene breathe in deep through his nose, a sure sign he was trying to work himself down from something. He looked back over at him.  
"Why didn't you say anything to me? Why keep it a secret?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just hurt, lost. Merriell struggled, fought to say what he meant.  
"It's just. Just hard to say, y'know?" He stepped a little closer, out of the kitchen doorway and into the room with Eugene. "Choosing to do it, and then the real work starts. Putting in time, putting yourself into it. And the more you put in, the bigger it gets, the more you can lose if it," he trailed off, out of words. Eugene watched him, sharp eyed, soft eyed, and Merriell wasn't the smartest sort but even he knew they weren't talking about the damn house, not really.  
Eugene's lips pulled down, fighting a sudden smile. Merriell felt his chest loosen at the sight. "You really did all this by yourself?" He shook his head, glanced around the room. "It'll be hard to top, next year."  
"So what," Merriell drawled, feeling confident again. "You want to live here or not?" Eugene looked at him and let the smile go, grow bright.  
They moved in slowly, picking up things here and there for the new place, making it their own. Eugene didn't wait for them to be moved in to start in on the backyard, digging up a big space in the middle for a vegetable garden and planting a riot of flowers along its edges. He bought a pair of fig trees and stuck them along the back fence. Merriell drank a beer and watched the sun turn him all pink and warm.  
By early summer they were moved and settled, the final addition being a phone that Eugene tested out by calling his parents, telling them about the house, about his classes. His mother didn't want to let him go, and Eugene sat at the table and grimaced at Merriell while he fried up some fish for dinner. Merriell didn't know what it said about him that he liked Eugene's mother despite the obviously low opinion she had of him. He supposed she reminded him of Eugene in those early days before they really knew each other, the same warm eyes but with a distant expression. _I don't smoke_. He chuckled to himself, remembering it. The fear and strain were still there, coloring the memory, but Eugene had been there too. That was something.  
"Sorry," Eugene said, when he eventually hung up the phone. "She was going on about Ed's little girl. Apparently she's turning out to be quite the handful."  
"Aw, girls ain't so bad," Merriell said. "My little sis was a hard one to turn up sweet, but she made it worth the while. You just gotta put the time in." It took him a moment to realize what he'd said. He didn't look up, focused on the fish.  
"I didn't know you had a sister." Eugene's voice was careful, lightly curious, but Merriell picked up on the strain of hope running through it. He grunted, forced himself to speak.  
"Have. She's fine, lives up north." He glanced over at Eugene, then away. "Though I guess I don't know where she might be. She was a good ten years younger than me, but she'd be all grown by now." He thought about stopping there, but went on, surprising himself. "She was just a little thing when my mama sent me down here to live with my aunt. My daddy was doing time and my mama had found a family willing to help the two of them out, but I was already getting into trouble and they weren't interested in dealing with me, so." He fumbled, lost, tried to remember what he had been meaning to say. "Anyways, I ended up looking after her for a bit when I got back home, but I was such a fuck up, I didn't really fight it when the family offered to adopt her. She went with them, and I joined the CCC, and then the marines, and you know the rest." He didn't think he'd ever talked so much in his life, the words seemed to just roll out of him.  
Eugene stayed quiet, didn't say anything when Merriell motioned to him to grab a plate, didn't speak while they moved around each other in the small kitchen and settled down at the table to eat. He scooted forward in his seat, bumped his knee against Merriell's. "Where were your parents? When you were looking after your sister?"  
"Dead," Merriell said bluntly. He forced himself to look Eugene in the eye, let him see. "Killed themselves." Eugene's eyes didn't change. Merriell felt him looking into him, knew that he saw that other person, the one he couldn't get rid of. He didn't even know if he wanted to get rid of him anymore. Eugene dipped his chin down slightly, gaze level, more shades there than Merriell could ever pick out or describe. _Tell me_. And Merriell realized, with something like a start, like something unfolding, that he wanted to. So he did.

" _How are you nothing but sagging skin over bone, and still this hard to move?" Sid groused. They had made it to the kitchen, but the going was tortuously slow. Merriell thought he might die before he even made it to his destination._  
_"Come on Marine, you ain't got my excuse," he said, and that was all he could manage before he ran out of breath. He leaned on Sid, let him all but carry him through the kitchen and into the back room, towards the door. "Stop," he managed to say, as Sid reached out and grabbed the handle. Sid stopped, and Merriell turned his head, looked back. The hallway was a straight shot down the side of the house, so that he could see all the way to the front door from where he was standing, could make out the outlines of the entrances to all the other rooms. Merde, he loved this house. All the care he'd poured into it, all the years he and Eugene had spent moving through it, happy, unhappy, never letting go, never giving up. Somehow it had equaled out. "Alright," he said. "I'm ready." Sid opened the door and hauled him outside. The heavy weight of the summer air was oppressive, but the warmth itself was welcome, he was so fucking cold. Sid tried to set him down in the chair by the door but Merriell struggled weakly. "No, that one, over by the fig trees." Sid groaned, but dragged him along, nearly dropped him into the chair. Merriell leaned back, breathless, feeling it all, feeling it creeping over him. "Alright, Phillips," he said when he was able to talk again. "You go back in the house and take it easy. Give me a bit."_  
_Sid stood silently beside him for a moment, breathing hard. Then he reached out, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Suppose now's as good a time as any to say it. You're a good man, Shelton. Thank you for taking care of Eugene."_  
_"Don't get soft on me now," Merriell said with a weak snort. "Besides, he's the one who took care of me. You make sure he's not alone after this." Sid squeezed his shoulder in answer, then turned away and walked back to the house, closing the door behind him. Merriell let his head fall back, looked up at his sliver of sky._  
_He didn't mind being able to only see a bit of it. Seeing the whole thing was too much, more than he could take in. He supposed that was part of the reason why he'd never really understood Eugene's faith. How could he believe so completely in something that big? Merriell had only ever been able to understand what he saw in front of him, and sometimes he barely managed that. He didn't know what came after living, probably nothing, probably that black pit, but then Eugene believed otherwise and he trusted Eugene, so maybe, maybe._  
_If there was something that came after, he didn't see how he and Eugene were bound for the same place, but he also didn't see how they could possibly be kept apart. He figured it was a damn good thing that he was going first, because whatever might be there, beyond the black, was new territory for them both, and Eugene had always been a hopeless mess without Merriell to show him how things worked, show him the lay of the land. Taking off his damn boots in the middle of a battle, for example._  
_Merriell's vision started to dim, he tried to breathe in, felt his body struggle to obey. Everything was going black, he had always known, deep down, that it would end that way, no bright light, no hand reaching out. Nothing but the dark and the fear, like those long awful nights in the Pacific. But even then, he'd had Eugene. He held onto that, let his image burn bright, as the black closed in and swallowed him._


	6. The nights were as dark as my baby and half as beautiful too

_Two young women stumbled by, hanging on to one another and laughing. Eugene watched as one tripped over nothing and the other clung to her arm, her waist, hauling her back up and letting her lean against her. They paused, kissed, snickered together and kissed again. One of them glanced over, saw Eugene watching them. He pulled his pipe from his mouth and smiled at her, nodded. She nodded back uncertainly, then said something quietly to her companion, and they moved on, arms around each other. He watched them walk away, let himself indulge in a moment of envy. That they had the chance for a whole life lived like that. But then, folk had the chance to live their lives all kinds of ways, it didn't mean that they would manage it. He knew how lucky he had been, how blessed._  
_A sudden pressure in his chest had him leaning forward, hand coming up to grip the iron rail of his front porch, but it passed away just as quickly as it came. It irritated Eugene, these little signs of what was to come that never amounted to anything. He rubbed the spot over his heart. The damn thing had been giving him trouble for years, and now that he wanted it to give out it got stubborn on him. It couldn't be long now though. He'd stopped taking his medications nearly a year ago, and had been having pain more frequently as time went on. He tapped out his pipe, groaned quietly as he pulled himself to his feet. The nights were getting chilly and he was too old to be sitting out on the stoop anyways._  
_It had been more than four years since Snafu died, and damn if time didn't drag by without him around to keep things interesting. He still lectured on occasion at the university, talked often with Sid and was visited by his nieces and nephews, but when you'd built your life around just one person there was only so much you could do to fill in those blank spaces they left behind. It seemed most of his life was blank spaces now. But he didn't regret it. He rubbed his finger along the ring, felt love twist, keen and sharp. He'd chosen it, time and again._

Snafu was being difficult. Forty years old, and the man could still act like a child when he was feeling stubborn or uncomfortable, and he was both right now. Eugene made his excuses as he backed out of the room, his mother calling after him not to linger too long. He took a few deep breaths, standing in the relative quiet of the hallway, then squared his shoulders and set off to find Snafu.   
He reminded himself to be understanding as he walked around the house, checking rooms. Snafu hadn't wanted to come, after all, Eugene had all but dragged him to Mobile by his ear. It had just seemed too important a gesture to turn away from, his parents including Snafu in their invitation to spend the holidays with them. He could count on both hands the number of times he'd returned to Mobile in the years since he'd moved to New Orleans. His parents were always asking him to come and visit, but they never asked him to bring Snafu along. As a result, Eugene rarely went home, wanting to make it clear where his life and priorities were. So when his mother had called, when she had said, deliberately precise, to bring "your Merriell" with him if he could make it home for the holidays, he hadn't felt like it was a chance they could let pass by. Snafu had disagreed, obviously. He dug his heels in, insisted they were spending the holidays at home. They fought over it for nearly a month before Snafu finally gave in, but he hadn't done it gracefully, had in fact been in a near constant black mood over it. It was New Year's Eve, they'd been in Mobile for a week, and Eugene was nearing the far reaches of what little patience he had.  
Stepping outside, Eugene immediately picked up the smell of cigarettes. He looked around until he spotted a telltale plume billowing out from behind a tree, the cold making it impossible to miss. He walked over and looked at Snafu, lounging against the tree, bored smirk in place. He'd obviously heard him coming.  
"It's almost midnight. They're wanting to pour champagne."  
"And what, they need help uncorking the bottle?" Eugene glared at him but Snafu just stared back, unmoved. "Better hurry back then, don't wanna miss the big moment." Something bitter, genuinely unhappy, moved across his face.  
"What is your problem, Snaf?" Eugene knew it was the wrong thing to say, but damn it was getting old, Snafu refusing to come out and say what he really wanted to. "They're trying, aren't they?"  
"So now I'm supposed to get cozy with them, pretend they haven't ignored us for the past sixteen years?" Snafu didn't say it with any real force. They were treading old ground now, just moving in circles around each other.  
"You don't even care about that, not really." It had been a bit of a guess, a suspicion that he had left unvoiced, but he saw that he was right by the look Snafu gave him. "There's something else, but you won't say it." Snafu's eyes slid away, he stuck his cigarette back in his mouth with studied nonchalance. "Fine," Eugene bit out. "Keep it to yourself, I'll be inside making excuses to my family for my husband's ridiculous - " His mouth snapped shut, he stared at Snafu, mortified. Snafu's eyes went wide, impossible to look away from as they dug into Eugene. He started to smile, big and insufferable. Eugene wanted to punch him, wanted to bury his face in his hands.  
"Go on, darling," he all but purred. "Your husband's ridiculous what? I hope you're talking about me, I've done all a man can do to keep you too occupied to go wandering."  
Sixteen years, and he'd never slipped up. God knew he'd thought it enough times. He intended to spend his life with the man, what else was he supposed to call him in his own mind besides his husband? Eugene gritted his teeth and glared at Snafu, refusing to blush at his provocative words. "I'm going inside," he finally managed to get out. He turned away and Snafu's hand snaked out, grabbed him by his wrist. He tugged, and Eugene reluctantly let himself be pulled back, let Snafu shift him in until they were pressed together. Snafu flicked his cigarette away and settled his hand on Eugene's waist. Eugene was braced for anything, but he wasn't expecting the soft, gentle kiss Snafu gave him, wasn't expecting Snafu to shift both hands around to his ass and press their hips together, the casual, sweetly familiar eroticism of the combined gestures. He let out a moan and slipped his way into Snafu's mouth. There hadn't been much tenderness between them lately, not with the protracted battle they'd been in over Eugene's family. It felt good to have him like this, warm along the length of him, the heat and smoke of his mouth a wickedly pleasing contrast to the chill of the night air.  
"Let's go to your room," Snafu murmured against his lips when he pulled back. "Got something there for you." Eugene groaned, part arousal, part annoyance.  
"No, Snaf." He ran his hands along his sides despite himself. "The whole family's still up, someone might come looking for us."  
"I'm not talking about that," Snafu said, pressing their hips together again on the last word for emphasis. "Something else." Eugene knew it was useless to question him further; Snafu could be unceasingly enigmatic when he wanted to be. He sighed and followed Snafu into the house, slipping past the sounds of his family counting down to the new year. They went into Eugene's room and Snafu went straight for his worn out old pack, he was strangely attached to the ragged thing, refused to use anything else when he traveled. Eugene closed the door and leaned back against it, watching Snafu shuffle through his poorly folded clothes and then stand back up, something clutched in his hand. He paced over to Eugene, got in close. Holding his gaze, he reached for his hand, turned it palm up, and dropped something into it. Eugene stared hard at him for a moment before looking down.  
It was simple, plain. A silver chain, a silver ring. Eugene could barely process it.  
"I almost didn't even bring it, you were driving me so damn crazy," Snafu said. "But then I thought, maybe something would come up, feel right, maybe I'd wish I had it."   
Eugene's throat clicked oddly when he spoke. "Snaf - "  
"I know it's not happening for us." He said it so frankly, pragmatically. Eugene looked up at him, but he was looking down at Eugene's hand. "Just wanted to give you something to show you that I mean it. That I know you mean it." Eugene felt some old black knot loosen inside him at his words. A pain that he'd become so resigned to he'd almost stopped feeling it. Almost.  
"You do?" He said, his voice an embarrassing croak. "You know?" Snafu looked up at him then, nodded once. Eugene clenched his fist tight around the ring and chain, buried his other hand in Snafu's hair. He kissed him firmly on the mouth, then wherever else he could get his lips; his nose, his chin, his neck. Snafu ran his hands along his back, roughly soothing. Eugene pulled away after a moment, shaking his head. "It's not right though, you need something too."  
"Got me a fine looking husband, what else could I need?" He was teasing, but Eugene felt a heady surge of love at his words. He kissed him again and then pushed him away, moving over to his desk and rooting around through the drawers. His parents had cleared his room of most of his childhood clutter, but they wouldn't have touched certain things, they were in here somewhere. He eventually found them rattling around in one of the corners; the cross and ring he'd worn all through the war.   
It wasn't that he'd lost his faith, it was strong as ever, although for several years after returning from the war it had been a solitary experience, something he hadn't been willing or able to share with others. It had only been within the last couple of years that he'd gotten back in the habit of attending Sunday Mass. It felt good to have that again, like a part of himself that had been wandering had finally come home. Yet he didn't think he would ever wear that cross again, or the ring, didn't want to feel that particular weight around his neck or finger. But they meant something to him, that chain and ring.  
He pulled the cross off of the chain, threaded the ring through in its place. He looked at it for a moment, the dull gold, the black rectangle of the ring's face. Those terrible years, all the little objects he'd held tight to, like the ritual of the things would protect him, see him through. Maybe they helped. But he knew the truth. He turned and went back to Snafu.  
"Here," he said, dropping them carefully into Snafu's hand. He watched Snafu look at them, knew he recognized the ring at least. Snafu touched it gingerly with his free hand, ran his thumb along its black surface. "Will you wear it?" He felt unaccountably nervous. Snafu was quiet for a long moment.  
"Sure," he said at last, low-voiced, still looking down. "Yeah, I'll wear it." He looked up at him then, and Eugene saw in his eyes how it had moved him, dragged him down and then back up again. Eugene smiled at him, understanding. All important things had a weight that could pull you low if you couldn't see their inner light, their real meaning. He looked down at the ring and chain still clutched in his own hand, looped around his fingers. A promise of trust, belief. He looked at Snafu while he put it around his neck.  
He woke up suddenly, startled to consciousness by a loud noise, a shout. He listened intently for a moment, but only heard the ordinary, long familiar sounds of their old house. Most likely it had come from his own head. He still had nightmares, although they were no longer as frequent or vivid as they used to be. He reached for Snafu, realized he was gone. He frowned, got up out of bed.   
Usually when Snafu couldn't sleep Eugene would find him in the kitchen, drinking and cooking, or in the back room, watching television with half his body stuck out the door while he smoked. It was how he settled himself after having his own nightmares. They didn't turn his mood black or drive him away into his own mind like they used to, but they did tend to leave him wide awake and restless.  
He wasn't in his usual places, but Eugene followed the faint sounds of music out to the backyard. At first he didn't see him there either. The portable radio was sitting on an empty chair by the door, its low volume adding its voice to the constant melody that was Eugene's city. There was always a snatch of music floating in from somewhere, the sound of folk yelling, laughing, singing. It didn't rattle Eugene like it used to. It was home.  
It was the middle of summer, and the night hardly did anything to break the heat. Eugene felt it settle thick around him, heavy with the scent of the jasmine he'd been growing along the fence, the fainter traces of garden herbs. Most of his view of the yard was lost to the dim light and the overgrown riot of life that was his garden, but he caught movement in the back, by the fig trees. He found Snafu there, crouched down and digging a small hole in the earth with Eugene's trowel. He looked up when Eugene approached, expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and guilt.  
"Don't worry, I'm looking out for the damn roots," he said, and went back to digging like that should be the end of it.  
"What's going on?" Eugene watched him carefully, trying to figure out where his head was at. Snafu grunted.  
"Had a fucked up dream. Got me thinking." Eugene reached down and ran his fingers through his hair, starting at his forehead and dragging them back to the base of his neck. Snafu stopped, let his head fall back, suddenly boneless, beautifully responsive. Eugene pressed his fingertips against his neck, a question. Snafu gave a deep sigh, but shook his head, returned to his task. He didn't want to talk about it, not right now. So Eugene waited, stood beside him and watched him work. It didn't take long; he only dug down about a foot, and the hole was narrow. He tossed the trowel aside and stood up, started digging around in his pockets. He was shirtless and barefoot, would stay that way all summer long if it were left up to him. Eugene had to admit it still suited him, even now, both of them well into their forties, their youth long gone. Snafu pulled something out of his pocket, gave Eugene an assessing look, and reluctantly held it out to him, letting him see.  
The light was too low to pick up their glint, left their shapes indistinct, harmless. Maybe that was why the sight of those gold teeth didn't raise any feelings of horror in Eugene. Maybe it was just time, distance. He looked at Snafu.  
"I dunno why I've been keeping them all this time. Guess I've hardly had to think about them, it's not like we ever got that hard up for money." He shook his hand a little, made the teeth rattle together. "Anyways, figured I should do something with them, get them out of the house."  
"It's a nice thought, burying them," Eugene said, although truthfully the thought of them buried beneath his trees made his skin crawl, just a bit.  
"Thought about just throwing them out, but that didn't seem right either," Snafu said, picking up on his discomfort.  
"No, you're right." Eugene bumped their shoulders together. "It's good." Snafu nodded, looked down at the hole in the ground.  
"You know the worst part?" He said it slowly, in that way he had when he was being honest, like he was speaking against his own will. "I still don't feel bad about it. They were dead." His looked over at Eugene. "All the fucked up shit that happened over there, and most days I just think, I'd live with that and worse, so long as at the end of it I still got this." Eugene didn't look away, and he chuckled, bitter. "Merde, all these years and that's the closest I can get. Feeling guilty that I don't feel guilty."  
Eugene hooked an arm around his waist, tucked him up against him. He took his time thinking over how to respond, running his thumb gently over Snafu's cheek. There wasn't much to say about any of it that could be a comfort while still being true. "None of us came back with clean hands," he said finally. It was a banal answer, hardly worth saying, and he could feel Snafu brushing it off like the meaningless tripe it was. Eugene sighed, let his hand drift down until it reached the ring resting on Snafu's chest. He thought about the long series of chances that led to him meeting Snafu, fighting alongside him, coming to love him. If he hadn't delayed enlisting out of respect for his parents wishes, if he hadn't eventually decided he couldn't live with himself if he didn't enlist. If he hadn't purposefully flunked out of officer training, so damn eager to join the war, to kill for his country. God, he'd been such a fool. Yet each stupid, misled decision he'd made brought him a step closer. And all those chances would still be nothing if he hadn't chosen Snafu, if Snafu hadn't chosen him. "I don't regret it," he said, hooking the tip of his finger through the ring. Snafu looked at him and Eugene looked back, trusting that he would understand, like he always had. "Merriell. I don't regret any of it." He tugged lightly on the ring and Snafu came to him, leaned his weight against him and let his head fall to his shoulder.   
They stood together like that for a long moment, not speaking, and then Snafu pulled free. He crouched down and dumped the teeth unceremoniously into the hole he had dug. Eugene bent down beside him and helped him fill it in, both of them shifting the moist dirt back with their hands. After it was done they stood back up, looked at each other. The music from the radio was barely reaching them, strands of Ben E. King. Snafu's somber expression gradually fell away, replaced by a sly smile. He reached out and grabbed onto Eugene's white undershirt with dirty hands, pulled him closer. Eugene tried to frown at him, but felt too damn content to make it convincing. He brushed his hands together to wipe off the excess dirt, then settled them along Snafu's side.  
"And darling, darling," Snafu half crooned, half muttered, off-key and off-beat. Eugene snorted, felt that same uncoiling love in his chest. It never seemed to end. "Jackass," he said fondly. They held each other close until the song ended.  
"The hell is this? How's this shit even get on the radio?" Snafu jabbed at the console, trying to find the right knob while keeping his focus on the road.   
"Turn it down," Eugene said, distracted. He hadn't thought it was so bad, but then he'd barely been listening. He had a stack of student papers on his lap that he was trying to work through but it was slow going. Snafu fiddled with the dial until he found a 50's station, turning it up instead of down. Eugene sighed and set the stack of papers at his feet. The light was starting to fade anyway, and he was too damn nervous besides.  
They were still about an hour out, but every mile their borrowed car ate up seemed to pull him a little tighter. He wanted to see them again, more than anything. He wanted Snafu to turn the car around and drive them home. He looked over at Snafu, checking in. He was restless, fingers tapping against the wheel, leg bumping up and down. But his face was relaxed, his eyes clear and blue. He was just ready to get out of the car, ready to arrive, he wasn't filled up with dread like Eugene.  
It was some kind of reward, watching Snafu grow older and more settled. He would always be small-framed and lean, but the years had given his body a solidity that had been entirely lacking when he was younger. He still moved with that same slow, languid grace that he'd always had, like an underwater creature, but time had smoothed out his nervous fidgeting and eerie stillnesses. Age had left hard creases along the sides of his mouth and the corners of his eyes, but he was just as strangely beautiful as he'd always been. Eugene reached for one of his hands, pulled it to his lap. He traced his fingers along the palm, following the natural lines, moving outward along the fingers. A gift.  
He felt Snafu look at him, and then look at him again, more intently. The hand in his lap rotated, settled on his thigh and squeezed gently. Eugene took a moment to gather himself. "I'm afraid," he confessed, looking over at Snafu.  
"What of? Seeing how goddamn fat and ugly they've gotten?" Snafu smirked at his own words.  
"No." He shifted in his seat, turned in towards Snafu. "We haven't talked about what we're going to say to them. About the two of us." They had only ever had a small circle that knew the truth, and most of them were in Mobile. Some of Eugene's colleagues at least suspected it, and Eugene was certain that most of their neighbors had figured it out. But they had always kept up the charade, two war buddies who just never really moved on or managed a normal life. It meant that Eugene always went to work functions alone, dodging attempts to be fixed up by countless well meaning friends and associates. It meant gritting his teeth at the pitying looks people sent his way when they learned he was unmarried, childless. It meant that the portions of their lives that they spent outside of their home were lived almost entirely separately from one another, worlds apart.  
"They haven't asked yet, don't think they're gonna ask now." Eugene hummed under his breath and looked out his window. The light was fading quick, color leeching away from the eastern sky. It was overcast, shaping into one of those nights where the moon and stars would be hidden but the clouds would seem to give off their own gray glow. Snafu sighed and turned the radio down low. "Alright. What're you thinking?"  
"I'm just wondering what they might have already figured out on their own," Eugene said slowly. "It's not like it ever came up, but they had plenty of opportunities to ask." Eugene had gotten into the habit of letter writing early on in their relationship. It was how he communicated in large part with his family back in Mobile after all, seeing as he rarely went home and no one ever visited, except for Sid and, on one memorable occasion, his brother. It had taken him a couple of years, but he'd eventually had the idea to look Leyden up, see how he was. His last memory of him was a painful one, trying to reach him as he lay barely moving in the mud, fighting to drag himself free of Snafu and Hamm's hands as they held him back. He sent him a letter and received one back, surprisingly quick. It became a regular thing between them, exchanging letters, and Eugene eventually thought that he might try writing Burgie and De L'eau as well.   
Once the habit was established between the four of them it never stopped, slowing down and picking back up again over the years as they went on. Their time in the Pacific was rarely mentioned; instead they traded anecdotes about their current lives. Eugene always had plenty to write, sharing stories about both himself and Snafu. He didn't hide the fact that they were living together, that they had sought each other out after coming home, but he didn't offer up any other details and no one ever had anything to say about it either way except to ask after Snafu whenever they wrote. Snafu never sent any letters of his own, although he read all the ones that Eugene received and often had him add on a message from him to the others. He talked cars with Burgie and sports with De L'eau. He and Leyden limited themselves to exchanging insults.  
The lack of questions had been a relief, for the most part. He and Snafu had stuck close together all through the war, maybe the others never thought it strange that they stuck close afterwards. But he never could shake off that creeping feeling that none of them ever asked because they didn't want to hear the answer. And now here they were, thirty years after they had all parted ways, headed to a steakhouse outside Milwaukee that Leyden had suggested. What had started as a wishful comment expressed by Burgie nearly fifteen years ago was finally about to happen; the five of them together again. Eugene thought he might vomit.   
"I'd lay money down they figured out enough," Snafu said in answer. He didn't sound concerned. "Pretty sure Burgie knew, even way back when."  
"Knew what?" Eugene scoffed. "There wasn't anything to know, then." Snafu gave him a look out the corner of his eye, and Eugene felt a pang of guilt, a flush of warmth. He supposed there had been some things to know about the two of them back then, at least as far as Snafu went. He wrapped his fingers around his wrist, an acknowledgement.  
"It's up to you, _mon coeur_. How do you want it to go?"  
Eugene didn't answer, focused instead on the map and the directions Leyden had given them. They didn't speak again unless it was to debate which road to take, how far out they were. About forty minutes later Snafu pulled to a stop and they looked together at the brown brick building in front of them. Eugene thought about Bill, collected, almost resigned, _Let's get it done Eugene_ , as they prepared for the beach landing on Peleliu. He felt Burgie's hand grip his shoulder, _You okay? Fucking rats_. He remembered holding Jay in the night, in the miserable dark, his body curled in around itself while he sobbed. All the things they knew about each other, the things they had held close over the long stretch of years.  
"I don't want to lie about it," he said finally, still looking at the building.  
"Alright," Snafu said easily.  
"It might end badly," Eugene said, daring himself to imagine what that might look like, feel like, to have them pull away, turn their backs.   
"It might," Snafu agreed. "Don't think it will though." Eugene turned to look at him and he smiled, fond and a little cruel. "We're all still talking to De L'eau after he sprayed shit everywhere, ain't we?"  
"God, Snaf," Eugene said, exasperated and trying not to laugh. "You're not planning on bringing that up, are you?"  
"S'like you don't know me at all," he answered, grinning big now. They leaned their shoulders together and looked back at the building.  
"It's more than that though," Eugene said after a moment. Something was moving in him, through him, blessed clarity. "More than just not lying. I want to tell the truth." Snafu was surprised by that, Eugene could tell by how he went still, stopped breathing for just a moment.  
"Alright," he said again, less easily this time, drawing the word out. He cleared his throat. "How you plan on doing that? Wanna walk in with my hand on your ass?"  
"Like you'd stop there if I let you get that far," Eugene said with a scoff. He pulled away from Snafu, reached behind his neck and unhooked the chain that held his ring. He did it easily, hands steady, suddenly sure of himself and his decision. He'd been wanting to do it for a long time. He slipped the ring on his finger, looked over at Snafu.   
His eyes were boring in, gray-blue, looking for doubt, looking for assurance. After a long, silent moment he nodded, reached behind him with jerky hands and copied Eugene's actions. "This just for the day?" He asked, trying to act careless as he slid the ring down over his own finger. Eugene didn't know why he even bothered, it was clear his heart was on the floor, waiting to be stepped on or picked back up.   
"I don't want it to be," he said quietly. Snafu looked at him, mouth twitching. "It's been long enough, don't you think? I know it's still not really safe. I just." He stopped, reached for Snafu's hand, ran his finger along the ring's black face. "Just think it would be nice, to go out to eat with you someplace and touch you. To not have to worry what I might be showing on my face, afraid that someone might look at me and see that I love you."  
Snafu latched onto his hand, grip painful. "I love you," he said, low and forceful, jaw tight. "Gene. _Seulement toi, toujours_." Eugene cupped a hand on his cheek, trying to soothe, and Snafu leaned into it like he always had, like it could never be enough. His lips quirked up. "Shit, thirty years, I'd say that's long enough."  
"Mer," Eugene said, and pressed his lips against the corner of his mouth, lingered there. He took a moment to breathe him in, his long familiar scent, and then pulled back, suddenly ready, eager and unafraid. "Alright. Let's go in."

_He didn't make it very far into the house, feeling tired, overwhelmingly tired. He closed the door behind him and collapsed back into his armchair, stuck in the corner of the front room. He looked around the room, remembered walking in and seeing it for the first time, taking in the wide bookcases built into the wall, across from the desk and the two large windows. He remembered looking at that desk, realizing Snafu had put it there for him. Christ he had been so angry, so full of baffled love. He felt it still when he shuffled his way through his empty house, haunted by his own possessions, the memories they summoned. God he missed him. He was ready to see him again, had some things stored up to say to him._  
_A great hand clamped down on his chest and tightened, tightened. Eugene let out a strangled gasp and clutched at his own shoulder. His vision blurred, he felt his mother's soft hand, heard a voice, his father's voice. The pain receded, but didn't go away, the room swam back into focus. Eugene struggled for breath, struggled to fight against the panic, and then that fist squeezed again and everything went gray. He was dizzy, reeling, looking down into a rocky divide, he had to cross but he was too fucking weak, scared, alone. Something moved on the edge of his vision, a hand thrust forward, he looked up -_  
_\- he walked into the tent but they hardly looked at him, laughed with each other. He turned to drop his pack and then the helmet landed beside it, he looked up and met his eyes. He turned away -_  
_\- somewhere distant his chest was cracking under the awful pressure, the pain a revelation, but it didn't matter because -_  
_\- he nearly fell through the doorway and he stood up, eyes wide, he said his name -_  
_\- he was in the mud again, there wasn't anything anymore but the mud and the stink, the weary understanding that he was going to die. He stood at the door of the hut, he always knew he would have to go in and face them, they had been waiting long years on him. He walked in -_  
_\- and he was floating on the water. I_ _t was comfortably cool, he could hear the waves crashing against the shore not too far off but he didn't turn to look, floating on his back instead and looking up at that blue sky, blue as anything. A bird passed overhead, heading out to deeper waters, and Eugene turned to follow after it with his eyes. He'd been feeling so weary, but he could feel strength returning to him now, felt like he could swim for miles, follow after that bird. He felt young again. His heart lifted, he started to swim out after its disappearing form, but a call from behind stopped him. He looked back, saw a figure stand up from where they had been sitting on the wet sand. Dark curls, liquid grace. Eugene felt himself start to smile, fought to press it down as he started to swim for shore with long easy strokes. He had some choice words stored up for that man._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, Hozier's As It Was is my Sledgefu anthem. And also Ben E King's Stand By Me because I'm cheesy like that. Thanks for reading.


End file.
